Roadverse 04: Life is a Road
by Ironbear
Summary: Looking into her birth records takes Faith not to Boston, but to Philly, of all places. A chance encounter leads to more mystery and deadly dangers...
1. Chapter 1: Paying it Forward

**Disclaimer: ** _Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters from those series belong to Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox Television, Kuzui Enterprises, UPN, Warner Brothers, and David Greenwalt Productions. I'm only borrowing them for the purposes of fan fiction, and only the plot and storyline, and those characters of my own creation belong to me. No profit is being made from this endeavor. Faith's back story draws __loosely__ from that shown in "Go Ask Malice: A Slayer's Diary" by Robert Joseph Levy; Simon Spotlight Entertainment. Episode events and episode dialog quotes, where used, are drawn from the transcripts and summaries at Buffyworld, Wikipedia, and the various shooting scripts._

_**Author's Notes:**__ This fic is the second novel length installment in my "Roadverse" aka "Oh, the people she knows" series. It picks up shortly after "__Anything for Love__". This started out as primarily a Supernatural crossover, however, it mutated rather fast once the characters developed their own ideas. It also crosses in characters from a couple of other older television series, and the Blade characters from "Anything for Love" have roles as well. This is going to be reasonably AU for Supernatural: in order to make it fit both the Buffyverse and my universe, I had to move the Supernatural timeline back several years to 2003, although Sam and Dean are still the same ages as in the series. Oh well... I'm sure they'll take their sudden time mislocation in the spirit it was intended. Or not. ;) For chronology buffs, this takes place between "Phantom Traveler" and "Bloody Mary" in the Supernatural timeline._

_**Word Count:**__ 186,035 so far, not counting notes, title, and disclaimer._

_**Awards and Nominations:**__ "Life is a Road" was nominated in the __**Best Unfinished Crossover (Other)**__ category at the __**2007 Twisting the Hellmouth Crossing Over Awards**__. This story has also been nominated in multiple categories at the __Fang Fetish Awards__! _

* * *

**Life is a Road...**

_by Ironbear_

**...**

**Chapter 1: **_**"Paying it forward... "**_

(Day 1, _December 5, 2003: 7 days after end of Anything for Love. Continuity Note: AtS "Just Rewards" occurs concurrently_)

Boston would have seemed the logical place to start researching, and that had been her very first impulse. However, a call from Wesley to Fred before she'd gotten completely out of New Jersey and a check of the files Wolfram and Hart had maintained on her from when they'd hired her years ago to assassinate Angel had netted the surprising information that while she'd been raised in Boston from as early as she could remember... the hospital of note on her birth records was located in Philadelphia.

Didn't mind that. Nothing in Boston she wanted to go back to.

That it was was something she'd never known, the only copy of her birth certificate she'd remembered seeing had listed Boston General, she'd thought. Or possibly had only assumed it. If the Philadelphia information had come up during her trial or rehearing - as it probably had - it hadn't registered on her.

Of course... she hadn't been tracking reality all that well during her trial, she reflected. And during her rehearings, panic over the possibility of not getting cleared by Angel and Gunn's efforts and having to go back to maximum security had kept her from tracking much of anything. There had been plenty of times during that month or so when she'd regretted not having followed up on Willow and Gile's suggestion of hacking her records with a combination of Willow's computer skills and techno-magic and setting her up a completely false but new identity. Instead, she'd gambled again on Angel and he'd come through for her, with the aid of the resources of the same evil law firm that had hired her to kill him. Irony, much?

End result being that she was free and cleared, with her own name and no need of an alias unless she _wanted_ to use one... and she didn't have to look over her shoulder constantly nor hit panic mode when a state trooper pulled her over for speeding or she accidentally got caught in one of the increasingly frequent DUI check points or some such. Small thing maybe, but the small things _matter_.

Little things like not having to remember to answer to a name that wasn't hers or needing to memorize fake details of a life she'd never led in a place she hadn't been born or grown up in. Being able to vote if she wanted (which she didn't: she'd decided that in stir), buy a firearm legally, and pass background checks if needed.

And even smaller things... like not having to explain why someone with an unrelated name was attempting to find out birth details for a 'Faith Michelle LeHane' and current contact information for the attending obstetrician and nurses at her birthing at one of the bigger public hospitals in Philly. Minor things like that.

She didn't find any indication in the records or data she could access via wheedling or bribery that she'd been twinned at birth and her twin adopted out. Nor had she expected to: W&H's research would have contained that already if it were going to be that simple. She did locate names of the nurses who'd been involved, as well as the information that none of them currently were located at that hospital any longer and apparently no longer residents of Philly. Figures. As was also the case for the doctor involved: some work turned up a (possibly no longer current as well) ten year old forwarding address for him in Oklahoma City. She passed on the nurses info to Wes and turned him and Fred loose on digging up current locales for them: Wolfram & Hart had better resources for that, anyway.

Several frustrating days of wending her way through an impersonally hostile hospital bureaucracy later, she found herself at loose ends in Philly with everything she could possibly accomplish on her end done. Bags parked in a nice hotel room that was a far cry from the rat bags that had been all she'd been able to afford as a teen in Sunnydale... and in no real hurry to head out on the road right away and start picking up the long cold trail in Oklahoma City.

She had no idea why her mom had had her in Philly and how they'd ended up living - and her growing up in - Boston, and with her mom dead... she couldn't even ask. Nothing that she had any memories of: her earliest memories were of South Boston and places around the city. It's possible that the old Watcher's Council could have provided answers, but that avenue had been closed off pretty thoroughly by the First Evil and none of their surviving records on her had contained anything useful. (Giles had checked for her following the collapse of Sunnydale So had Wes in his copies of the Watcher's journals. She didn't think either of them would have concealed anything they'd found.)

Following a workout, a swim, a long shower and a longer soak in the hotel's whirlpool, and a good meal, she grew bored with flipping cable channels to find nothing of interest and decided to go explore a bit. Maybe find a bar and sample downtown Philly's nightlife - or go hunting and sample Philly's other nightlife. Or both, in no particular order.

**...**

_Earlier..._

It had taken her longer than she'd hoped to settle things with Vi and Giles, gather the rest of her stuff, and ride out. She couldn't really begrudge them the time spent either: whether they were ok with it or not, her quitting in the way she had was leaving a hole in things here that Vi was going to have to fill in behind Robin, who wasn't coming back to his former position. Other things had surfaced when Giles finally started taking a hard and up close look at the New York school set up, in addition to Robin's affairs with several of the older students while Faith was on the road. Not the only secret he'd been keeping... Robin Wood had evidently had aspirations to set up his own alternative Watcher' Council, and slayer group resources. THAT was going to take a while for Vi to root out.

Plus there was the hole in the training staff that Giles was going to have to figure out how to fill...

She hadn't lied in their phone conversations, though. If she'd done her job right - and she had - Andrea, her assistant was ready to move up. Faith had trained the girl herself, and she'd been doing the job as often as not over the past six months while Faith was on the road. Only real gap was someone to do the 'on the road' bit of locating newly Awakened slayers and filling them and their families in on what they were, what had happened, and on the resources available to them.

And if in all the months since the First and Willow's spell through the Slayer Scythe, they _only_ had _Faith_ doing that particular job in the US... well, high time that shortfall was rectified anyway.

Not all that much stuff to gather and pack up, at that. Faith looked around the room double checking. Hers, not 'hers and Robin's'. She'd wanted one of her own for her things and a bit of space if she needed it, even if she hadn't slept here more than once in a while so long as she and he had been together. The big leather covered wooden box that Willow had made for her, along with her gear bag, back when Wills had been experimenting with extra-dimensional space magics. Just the right size to strap onto the bike's rear carrier, with little drawers and compartments for all sorts of items. And keyed to her: anyone else opening it found either empty drawers and spaces or only normal items and suchlike. Ditto for the saddlebags. And her guitar case... last thing left to pack up and close.

"Not going to be the same around here," Vi remarked from the doorway. She'd come up to lean against the door frame watching as Faith sorted the last of her gear.

Faith ran a finger across the strings of the resonator acoustic, getting a soft charge out of the pure, sweet note. "Things change, kiddo."

"Yeah. Abruptly sometimes." The red headed younger woman cocked her head and gave Faith a long look. "Giles doesn't want you to go, either."

Faith shook her head and set the guitar gently in its case. "For the best. Besides... you sat in on the last few discussions we had. He doesn't trust me enough to not second guess me, and I don't have the patience right now to fight with him over it." She closed the lid and latched it, met the other woman's eyes. "And there's too many memories here right now, as well."

She didn't mention her other reasons for wanting to hit the road, and wasn't going to. No one's business but hers.

"Yeah. Well... " Vi shrugged, obviously unhappy, but letting it go. "He said to let you know, again, that there's work for you on a contract basis if you want it. Just keep in touch."

"Thanks, I will." Faith smiled, "Be good to not have to shake down demon bars for income when my bank account runs low." Nodded, thinking... after Giles and Willow had managed to access the accounts of the old Watcher's Council and discovered just how much Quentin Travers and his cronies had locked away in numbered accounts, investments and interest bearing funds, they'd been more than a bit stunned. Monies that hadn't been used for the benefit of the girls and field Watchers they'd thrown into the supernatural grinder and used up. Used instead to support the lavish headquarters and Travers and his cronies lifestyles.. Each of the survivors of Sunnydale and the First had gotten a nice lump amount plus their own share of the investments and interest accounts before they'd sat down to plan out just exactly what to do with the rest. And how to do it...

'Survivors' including Faith, Vi, and Buffy's younger sister Dawn. Faith wouldn't live rich off the interest and dividends... but she really didn't have to work much if she didn't want to, as long as she didn't get spend happy. And she wouldn't have to live in roach trap motels like she had when she'd first arrived in Sunnydale...

"Faith LeHane, Freelance Troubleshooter." Vi laughed. Her mind had evidently gone down a different track than Faith's and she'd misread the nod. No worries - Faith didn't correct her impression.

"For trouble that shoots back," Faith grinned. "Demons killed, Apocalypses averted, mystical items recovered, yup. For a nominal fee." She slung the saddle bags and strap for the big box over shoulders, and picked up the guitar case. Forestalled hugs and crap if she had her hands full. Judging from the laugh in Vi's eyes... she wasn't fooling her friend on that, either. "Take care. And keep the Wild Bunch in line, y'hear?"

"That's going to take some doing." Vi nodded. "You take care as well."

Finally. Everything loaded and strapped down on the big cruiser, and almost on the way. Almost...

One last stop to make before heading south. Fortunately, one a lot less stressful than the last, even if it wasn't any more enjoyable.

_'Never be so glad to see a town fall behind me,'_ she thought. _'This city is freaking insane.'_ At least now she was into what she considered the best part of New York. Only part of the place she really cared for... could nuke the rest of the place from orbit for all she was concerned. Chinatown damned near made up for the rest of the burg, to her mind though. She'd fallen in love with the place from the first time she'd laid eyes on it: the sounds, the smells, the people, the foods, the language even... the rich kaleidoscope of lights and alien color fascinating her. When she'd been in NY, she'd spent almost as much time down here as she had at the school. She'd located and briefed a couple of Chinese newly Awakeneds not long after they reached New York... how she'd met the aging Priest she was heading down here to see, as a matter of fact.

_'At least there's lights on,'_ Faith reflected, pulling the bike to a stop in front of the old apothecary shop and putting down the stand. Not that it'd mattered - if there hadn't been, she'd have curled up on the stoop and waited until daylight if needed. She pocketed the keys and headed in. No need to worry about the bike and gear, here. No one in Chinatown would touch a vehicle parked in front of this building.

Very few people would touch that particular bike or anything on it anywhere in _this_ neighborhood.

She paused to take off her boots before going in, carrying them in one hand with her guitar case's strap over her shoulder, as she went through the shop and up the narrow stairs to the small dojo and residence above. Set them down just inside the doorway along with the case as she entered.

"Master Caine," Faith bowed formally to the tall figure, after waiting for him to finish lighting a set of candles at the back of the practice area. No students here at this time of night, only her and him. Made this easier, if anything.

"Faith," he nodded. "Welcome." He shook out the lit taper and made a gesture towards the low table. "Sit. What brings you here so late?"

"Heading out. Wanted to say goodbye," she settled in cross legged on the floor across from him.

"That sounds final." He looked at her.

"Is. For now," she nodded. "I'm hitting the road for an extended period. Probably won't be back for a long time. If ever."

"I see," he gave her a long look, then inclined his head gracefully. "Not a trip for your job, then?"

"No," Faith smiled. "I'm quits there. No more job."

"Indeed," a longer look, and a slight frown. "Tell me about it, if you wish to?"

"Yeah... " She frowned, "Kind of a long story, though."

"I have time." He nodded, "Let me make us some tea while you get started."

It took her awhile to relate the events leading up to her ride away from the New York IWC school, and her aborted alphabetic drunk. And to relate the events of the past several... days afterwards. She was startled to realize it had only been several days. It had felt like weeks at the time. Still did in her memories. She left nothing out, except for personal details on Blade and his odd little family that weren't important. If anyone, Master Caine knew more than enough about New York's odder 'nightlife' and the supernatural to not need background explanations. And enough about what she was and did.

They were both silent for a time after she finished. He poured them both some more tea, and lit another stick of incense. Waved his hand gently through the smoke and gave her a considering look.

"I see," he said finally. "That was why you were so insistent that we watch for any signs of disruptions on the mystical fronts during your last call several days ago?"

"Yeah, or physical," she nodded. "I couldn't be more specific at the time because I hadn't figured things out yet. Then... things kind of accelerated on me." She shrugged. "I figured that of anyone, you and your son could deal with whatever came through here if it went sideways... and that you needed to be one of those on the second line."

"No matter." He made a dismissive gesture, waving away any apology she might have started. "You handled it. And well, it seems." He smiled at her, "Commendable."

"Thanks. With help... " She grinned suddenly. "Did my best."

"So, you're off on a quest then, to seek this... sister you mentioned?" He gave her a curious look.

"Sister, clone, double... other half? Whatever she is." Faith nodded. "And it gives me a reason to move on, rather than just... moving on."

"And you are certain that moving on from what you were is what you really wish?" His eyes were measuring. Not of her, but her resolve and reasons, she guessed.

"Yeah. Things weren't.. quite there even before this came up." She frowned. "I'm not really an admin type, I don't think. Or a teacher."

"I beg to differ," Caine smiled. "You've done excellently with some of the more troubled students at the dojo here. You'll be missed."

"Really?" She gave him a surprised look. "I always thought I was too harsh on them, compared to you. But you never said anything, so... "

He shrugged, "Some students respond to gentleness. Some respond better to hardness, when it comes from someone they can sense has been to the same places they've been." He was referring to some of the street kids he'd taken in, that he'd placed in her group after he'd gotten to know her a bit, she knew.

"Yeah... " She shook her head, "Still not me though. Not right now. I might have managed to make myself fit, but... now there's too much in the way."

"Yes. I can see that," He met her eyes, "The world needs hunters and warriors, as well as teachers, Faith. Just don't lose yourself while you're searching."

"I'll try not to," she had a wry expression. "Don't plan to. This does sound a bit silly though, laying it all out to you. I don't have much to go on... a dream image, a remembered connection, and a feeling."

He made another dismissive gesture at that and shook his head. "Long ago, my great grandfather came to this country searching for his brother whom he had not seen. He spent decades wandering about seeking, with far less to go on and fewer resources than you have available."

"Did he find him?" Faith raised an eyebrow. This was something she'd not heard before, neither from the older man nor his detective son.

"Yes." Caine smiled. "Finally, along with a great many other things along the way." He followed the smile with a stern look, "Do not grow lax on your meditations, Faith. Nor on your katas while you are searching."

"Ha. Got that one five-by-five, Sensei. I won't," she promised, standing up. He stood as well, giving her a formal bow, which she returned.

"I may look up Vi and offer to assist if needed after you've gone," he said. "Good fortune to you."

"Thanks. And thanks again, Master Caine. Vi will probably appreciate that." She grinned suddenly, "Say goodbye to the kid for me. He's ok, even if he is a cop."

**...**

_'Shoulda thrown Robin harder through that door,'_ she thought. _'He not only managed to wreck my comfortably vague plans for the future, but gave me just enough of a glimpse of it to ruin my taste for grab-n-roll. Either that, or I'm going nuts-er, as Hannibal suggested more'n once.'_

Bored, lonesome, and vaguely horny. And nothing male in her current bar that she found even vaguely intriguing, much less interesting enough to want to drag back to her room. Probably not fair to blame Robin Wood for that: last six to eight months she'd increasingly found herself exposed to a higher caliber of male, and mental comparison with Blade, Wesley, or King left her snickering inside at the various specimens she'd seen so far tonight. She nursed her Sam Adams and warned off yet another hopeful with a dark, disinterested stare that went through him and veered him away to less... intimidating targets.

Not counting the blowup, things with Robin hadn't been bad, really. First real relationship she'd ever been in - numerous cases of 'want, take, have, get some get gone' with various boys, men and women from the time she'd hit puberty didn't count. That wasn't 'relationship', even if you took a real liberal definition of the word. Robin had enjoyed showing her the better side of things: clothes, nice restaurants, shows in NYC both off and on-Broadway, books... even if his idea of her 'dressed up' ran (in her opinion) at times to 'trophy girlfriend' rather than date, it hadn't really bothered her. Her idea of 'dressed' ran to leather and jeans usually, after all, so it was a nice change. Correcting her grammar and street slang had on occasion gotten annoying... but she bit her tongue and dealt, and after all, she was supposedly an instructor and school admin now, having to deal with the public. Talking like a barely literate hood definitely clashed with that image, so she'd applied herself to watching other people and figuring out how they talked and acted.

Her prison reading addiction hadn't included Lolita or Pygmalion, or her reflections on the past six months with Wood might have taken an even darker cast...

Out off the highway she'd have called this place a road house. Tucked in here in a converted warehouse off of one of the more decrepit ends of Philly's downtown business district, she wasn't quite sure what category to put it in. Neither skanky dive nor club, really. Pool tables at the back, dance floor, and a mix of modern country, country rock, and classic rock covers on the play list, with a mixed assortment of beat up blue collars, wannabe biker types, truckers, and the usual run of b-gals and female companions.

In her leathers, bored expression, and with the tribal tat on her bicep, she looked to fit right in. And inside... she couldn't have fit less if the place was on Mars and she'd just phased in from the Enterprise.

Bars hadn't changed any since she'd gone away. She had, she suddenly realized. She didn't fit, and was aware that she'd felt more comfortable in Jersey City's demon bars - even the hostile ones - than she did in here surrounded by her supposedly fellow humans.

_'Heh. And I'm not about to start shagging vamps and demons,'_ ran through her mind. _'Tired of being a cut-rate Buffy.'_

Hello there. The two newer entries to the urban roadhouse scene were definitely a pleasant change in scenery. The older one was good looking in a pleasantly dangerous fashion, and carried himself with an instinctive awareness of himself and his surroundings that struck her interest. Beat on a bit, here and there, both by life and other people, she noted. The other was too young for her tastes, but cute, and he had more than a touch of the older one's dangerous air. She watched them head to the back where the pool tables were and decided they were brothers. Had to be: the resemblance in features were too close.

Of course, she was the one hunting for a line on a near twin that might not even be related to her, so her judgment on that might not be all it should be. She watched the pair for a time as they waited and then took up a free table, paying more attention to body language and voice than to features and affirmed her earlier opinion.

_'Brothers, and hustlers,'_ she swallowed a grin as she watched the two set up and play off of each other expertly, the older one losing to the younger carefully. _'This should be interesting,'_ she thought. She watched the older pass money to his sibling and set up for another break. Fishing for suckers.

Finding some, too, she saw. When the elder paid off in obvious disgust on another close loss, a couple of apparent sharks from a nearby table went up and challenged the younger. Exchange of words was too low to hear over the bar sounds and music, even with her hearing, but she didn't need to to fill in the dialogue. She ordered another Adams and drifted back, finding a stool near the brothers table where she could watch. Watch and probably be noticed by them if they were fishing for more than marks.

Something vaguely familiar about the two. Something about the look. She studied the older one casually, and decided that she hadn't ever seen him before, even in passing. But still...

He noticed the casual scrutiny and drifted over to find a section of wall nearby to lean against. Studying her back, frankly, in between watching the game. When she caught his eye he grinned and nodded, then went back to watching the table. Not fishing for more than marks, then. She made a mental bet she could change his mind on that if she decided to. The younger one lost the first round - not by much, but enough - and offered the shark a chance to win more on a double or nothing. Accepted and he moved to set up the table. Idiot shark. Not even figuring out he was being used as bait for bigger ones.

He won the second game... not by enough to make the wanna be shark figure out he'd been hustled, but definitely by enough to make him hungry to get it back. Money passed hands and they upped the bet, the loser racking the balls for another.

"Your brother's good," she remarked, taking a slow chug off her brew. Aware of him watching the movements of her throat as she swallowed.

He raised an eyebrow, "What makes you think he's my brother?" Leaning over and speaking low as she had so as to not be overheard at the tables or by other bystanders.

"Looks. Way you both move and react to each other," she grinned.

"Ah." He nodded, "I'm Dean." Neither confirming or denying her speculation, she noticed.

"Faith," she stuck her hand out. Nice grip. Firm. Nice hands, too. With weapon and gun callouses, she noticed.

"Interesting name."

"Don't blame me," she laughed. "My mom dug it up from somewhere."

A disgusted exchange at the table drew their attention back briefly. Little shark paid off with a curse on the second game, and evidently wasn't happy with the 'beginner's luck?' quip or the not well enough hidden smirk of the younger brother. Not unhappy enough to start a fight over it though, neither he nor his buddy. Looked like it had cleaned him out well enough that a 'double or nothing again?' just got back a snort and another curse as the two - now poorer - sharks moved off. Faith made a mental note to watch them just in case they decided to renegotiate in the parking lot later.

It caught the attention of another player as well, and he called out that he'd take some of the brother's action as he moved in. They set up for the game as Faith and Dean watched. More confidence in this one: obviously a better player, or he at least thought so. Bigger wallet too, judging by the size of the offered bet she overheard. Four of them... shark number two and three buddies. Not-quite-biker-types, she figured. Steel workers in jeans and motorcycle boots, big across the arms and shoulders. Weekend riders.

Dean shook his head, hiding a smirk, and caught Faith's eyes and laughed. She nodded, laughing as well. "Boston, huh?" he asked.

"The accent?" She raised an eyebrow, "Yeah. But not for a long time now."

"Philly now?" he asked.

"Naw. Just passing through," she finished her beer. "Traveling for awhile."

He offered to buy her another beer and she accepted, smiling. They went back to watching the game for awhile. Faith noticed with amusement more than a few of the bars female patrons checking out the pair of brothers. About an even split between the older one, and the cute and cocky younger bother. And more than a few shooting her speculative looks for her apparently having snagged the older one. _'Don't get too bent, sis,'_ the inside of her head snickered at one bleached blonde. _'Haven't decided I want him, yet.'_

When it broke out, she realized she'd been half expecting the fight all along. Shark number two didn't take losing quite as well as the earlier one had, and after his third, decided to object. Voiced his objection with an attempted fist to the mouth, blocked by the younger brother and returned with interest in a below the belt punch that left him doubled over and gasping. And a rabbit punch to the back of the neck that laid him gasping harder on the pool table. Dean uncurled from his wall and she slid off of her stool, Faith eying the altercation and surroundings with a professionals appraisal.

One of shark's friends decided he didn't like the turn the discussion took and lifted a pool cue to voice his opinion, heavy end first. Dean shouted something, not clear what, and moved in. Faith reached it first, anyway, and caught the cue one handed as it came down.

It stopped, dead in midair, and when the guy's eyes widened she twisted it back on him smiling and smacked him between the eyes with the butt end. Hard, and his eyes crossed and rolled up as his knees buckled. She used the same butt end on his other friend to the diaphragm when he levered himself up off the table, remembering as her hand moved that he wasn't a vamp or a demon, just a normal guy, and kept the shot just hard enough to drive all the wind out of him without punching it out through his back.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean knee and then deck buddy number three, as younger bro snagged his winnings off the pool table edge and ducked a cue from number four. Scrambling back. Number three straightened, whipped his head around to glare at Dean and grinned. _'Whoulps. You done caught yourself a bad one, guy,'_ she thought. She yelled at Dean to get back, dropping her cue, grabbed a handful of collar and belt on her still doubled over partner, and threw him at number three. Sent them both backwards and over across another table. Stepped and side kicked the cue number four was using, breaking it in half as younger brother dodged sideways and back away again, then snap kicked four across the jaw. Remembered again to pull it. He went down and across the floor, groaning.

_'Not used to fighting normals,'_ she thought. _'Have to remember they're not as durable as my usual dance partners... ' _

Dean and his brother were backing up, scanning the area. She took a fast look around, counting off seconds in her head. None of the other pool players were joining in yet, but the two that had suddenly gotten a pair of fighters across their game didn't look happy about it. Bouncers would be back here in less than a minute, and maybe even an undercover cop or two if there were any in the joint. Time to scoot... she slung her coat over her shoulder. Good thing she'd grabbed it when she stood, she thought, _'Good coat and the hardware inside would have raised a lot of eyebrows on someone.'_

"Back door!" She pointed at the short hallway under the 'Restrooms' sign and neon at the back of the pool area, and they nodded and made for it. Her just behind, pausing just long enough to throw a brilliant, high wattage, and apologetic grin at the two guys who's table she'd thrown the two remoras across. At least one grinned back, so they couldn't be too pissed.

Faith made it out just on their heels, both brothers stopping briefly to look around. Dean obviously had questions in his eyes, probably about the cue thing or the throwing thing, but was holding them. Good...

"You guys around front?"

Dean shook his head. "Side lot, at the through street." She nodded.

"My bike's out front. I'll catch up to you on the street and follow." She spun on her heel and took off around the building, fast. Put on slayer speed when she was around the corner.

No one was running out the front yet searching when she came flying around the corner shrugging into her coat. Only new arrivals heading into the place. She ran to her bike and threw a leg over the big BMW, yanking the keys frantically out of her pocket. Got it started, breath frosting as she took it off the stand, wheeled it backwards and put it into gear.

She caught up to them just as they were pulling out of the side exit of the lot, recognizing Dean's profile through the driver's window. Older hot rod of some type. Not a beater - nice car and obviously restored, hopped up from the sound, and well maintained. She fell in behind them as they took off, tires smoking.

Dean rolled down his window as they pulled up at a stoplight some six or so blocks from the bar, and she pulled up along side in the other lane, twisting to reach around behind her for the helmet. Entire damn coast was anal about the things - riding without was asking for more LEO hassle than a bar fight.

"Thanks for the hand back there," he yelled across over the engine sounds, grinning.

"No probs," Faith grinned back. "Watch the tire smoking now that we're clear - asking for a cop to wonder what you're running from."

"Ha. Yeah." He laughed and gave her a curious look. "Where you heading now?"

"No place, since you ruined my evening out," she cocked her head, considering. "There's a decent diner about twelve or so blocks that way, toward my hotel, if you want to make it up to me. You can buy me a burger with your brother's winnings?"

He nodded and yelled 'Ok!' and made an after you motion as the light changed on them. She pulled around shooting ahead, then slowed to speed limit as they fell in behind.

They made it to the diner without incident, and without passing any squad cars. Either the other pool players had vouched for the shark starting things to the bouncers, or any law enforcement was taking a different route. Short incident without too much ruckus, and not too many big guys wanted to explain to the police how they got mostly beat up on by a five-five girl... so possibly the former. Doubtful that was the first pool table brawl that joint had seen. She found a slot and pulled into it while Dean was hunting for another space, and got off, pulling the helmet off as she walked back towards them.

"Nice wheels," she nodded as she came up. Looked to be a late 60-something Impala, black, nicely restored - it almost looked new. Definitely souped up: she didn't know much about cars, maybe, but she could tell from the sound when one had a hell of a lot of muscle under the hood.

"Thanks," Dean started explaining something about the car, and she shook her head after a minute, grinning.

"All Chinese to me. I don't know from cars," Faith laughed, "Just bikes, jeeps, and pickup trucks." His brother elbowed him, and Dean gave a sheepish grin. Not offended though, cool.

"My brother's a gear head - don't mind him," the younger one put in. He was definitely giving her frame a once over. She returned the favor. 'Young, but he could grow on you,' she decided. Young, ha. Probably about her age, more or less. Hers was mostly mileage making her head feel old inside.

"No worries," she nodded. "So... how'd you do?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Not bad. Few hundred," he said, a bit cautious.

"Cool. Not a living, but you can eat off it," she agreed. "Speaking of... " She gave Dean the eye and he laughed, gesturing toward the diner. They settled into a booth, the two of them across from her. She folded her coat into the seat half next to her and laid the helmet on top. _'Not as good as rubbing thighs with Dean-o, but... '_ she thought. _'Down, Faith. At least this way you can study both of them without having to sit sideways and whip your head back and forth.'_

"Yeah, Dean said he promised to spend all my money on you," the younger one remarked as he opened a menu.

"Hey - my seed money," Dean objected.

"Yeah, but I did all the damned work. As usual." Faith grinned, watching the byplay between them.

Dean snorted, "From where I was, looked like Faith did most of the work." He glowered, "You were about to stop a pool cue the hard way."

"Can't earn a living without brain work," came the objection. "Besides - no vital organs up there." He winked at Faith and she snickered. "Hey - where'd you learn to fight like that, anyway?"

"Around." She shook her head, not wanting to go into anything beyond that, "Studied with various people over the years." She saw Dean studying her, as well as her answer.

"Must've been good teachers," younger brother responded amiably. "I'm Sam, by the way. Sam Winchester. You've already met my ill-mannered brother Dean, I gather."

"Faith," she nodded. "Faith LeHane."

"Cool." He nodded, then looked up as a waitress made it over to take their orders. They ordered and studied each other some more while she brought their coffee.

"Hrrmm... Winchester?" Faith was looking at them oddly from that, frowning slightly and eyes searching their faces intently.

"Yeah... ?" He looked sidelong at Sam, and got a puzzled quirk of the eyebrows in return. Evidently what she saw answered something for her, for she nodded abruptly, very slightly.

"Any relation to a John Winchester?" She looked at Dean. When he gave her a curious look, she described who she was talking about.

She didn't have any threat behind the question, or in the barely suppressed excitement she could feel dancing in the eyes, so he nodded, carefully. "Yeah. He's our father."

"Wow. Wicked cool!" Her eyes lit up. "Thought there was something vaguely familiar about you two. You both look a little like him."

"You _know_ our Dad?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "How?"

"Number of years back now," Faith grinned, nodding. "I met him when I was running away from Boston. Tried to pick him up, actually." She laughed.

"Tried?"

"Ha. Yeah," Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she looked distant, smiling. "He turned me down, very gently and charming. Then he bought me dinner, listened to my kinda wild sob story, dropped me off and bought me a bus ticket to California." Pause... "I found out later that he slipped a hundred dollar bill in my pack when I wasn't looking, and a note that said _'I hope you find what you need. Don't pick up strange men any more - it's dangerous.'_"

Dean laughed. "Wow." He looked slightly stunned. Sam cocked his head and asked, "Did you?"

"Find what I needed?" She gave him a curious look. "Yeah. But it took me awhile. And I didn't stop picking up strange men." She ran the tip of her tongue lightly over her lips and winked at him. "Are you strange?"

Sam blinked. Dean elbowed him, "Stop that. You're not old enough."

"Am too."

"I thought he was nine kinds of an idiot at the time," Faith chuckled. "Took me awhile... but I figured out later just how rare that was. I never forgot it." She looked away, lost in thought for a moment. "Special man."

"He was." Dean nodded.

"Was?" She felt her eyes suddenly go bleak, just a bit.

"Is. Probably." Sam put in, "We're trying to find him."

"Ah." She cocked her head, "So, years later... I got to do something for his kids. Cool."

"Paying him back?" Dean looked at her curiously.

"Paying it forward," She shook her head. "Some things, you never pay back."


	2. Chapter 2: Some people make do

**Chapter 2: **_**"Some people make do with a family dog... "**_

They finished the meal comfortably, relaxing with coffee after the food was done. Since Faith had packed away a huge meal already before leaving the Marriott, she didn't have to explain why a five foot four-or-fiveish girl who looked like she might weigh 130 at best, dripping wet and even with her muscle, had the appetite of a line backer. No worries really: she could tell that there were parts of their stories the Winchester brothers were carefully editing out, and that was five-by-five with her. They could probably pick up the same with her - both brothers seemed pretty sharp - and they didn't pry either.

Secrets, secrets, all the gods children's gots secrets. And even the ones that probably weren't related to any gods at all...

"So you guys basically drift around the country looking for your dad?" Faith grinned at Dean, "and hustling pool for gas and food money?"

"Yeah, well.. when you put it like that... " He shrugged and laughed, "Does sound a bit weird, huh?"

"Among other things," Sam added. "We pick up work here and there when we set down for more than a day or so."

She nodded, "Not too weird. Just... different." Shrug, "S'ok. I like different."

"Sounds like you're doing similar, from what you said about passing through," Dean said. "Job? Or just road tripping?"

"Nosy," she observed, and then grinned when he looked a bit abashed. "S'allright. I'm nosing into your business a bit," she stated. "Neither, really... doing the same thing you guys are, kinda."

"Kinda?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Looking for my... sister." Faith shook her head, "Long story. No idea where she ended up or what name, we were... separated a _long_ time ago. So I'm just kind of bumming around hoping I can stumble across something."

"Been at it long?" Dean asked.

"Just started really," Faith laughed with a rueful expression. "Philly's my first stop. Checking records here."

"Long time, no name... " Sam shook his head, "Will you even know if you run across something?"

"Should. She should look just like me and be the same age just about."

"Twins?" Dean looked intrigued by the idea. So did his brother.

"Something like, yeah."

"So when someone asks if there's any more at home just like you... " Sam raised an eyebrow, grinning. Dean shook his head and hit him on the shoulder with a muttered 'lame lame lame'.

"I can say 'Sure is'," Faith laughed again. "If I had a home and she was there, anyway."

"You don't seem to be hustling pool for a living like us," Dean said, ignoring Sam's eyebrow and 'Us, Kemosabe?' mutter. "So... " he trailed off.

"What do I do for a living?" Faith snickered. "I see you ran out of places to go with that. I could be mean." Dean looked a bit embarrassed and made a 'didn't mean anything' gesture. "I have money put back, and I get checks still from my former job. Not hurting for money unless I get spend happy."

"See? An independently wealthy biker babe and she likes you," Sam turned to Dean. "Now you can be a kept man and stop mooching off of my pool skills."

"Ignore him," Dean said. "He was dropped on his head as a child. Often."

"Oh, I don't know," she gave him an appraising look. "Might be interesting to have a Man Friday on the road. Are you keepable?"

He shook his head, laughing. "Are you always this direct?"

"That's not direct." She gave him a look with a bit of voltage. "When I'm _direct_, you'll know it." She grinned and Sam snickered.

The check had been delivered a long time ago by this point, and the waitress was starting to hover like she wanted to free up the table. Sam looked at the bill and peeled off money to cover it, then set down additional as a tip. They wended their way back out to the parking lot and stood by Faith's bike talking for a bit, breaths frosting in the chilled air. She threw a leg over and sat cocked across the saddle while they talked.

"That's a pretty nice ride," Sam checked the BMW over with obvious interest.

"Thanks. Custom. Old friend gave it to me." Faith cocked her head and gave him a curious look. "You ride?"

"Afraid not. Never had a bike, other than a dirt bike as a kid," he shook his head. "You're going to freeze going across country on that with winter coming on," he observed.

"I'll manage," She said, matter of fact. "Gets too bad, I'll hole up somewhere for a few days til it passes. I'm in no particular hurry."

"Good way to be," Dean nodded.

"Yeah." Giving lie to her 'no hurry' a bit, she put the key in and started the bike up, letting the engine warm. "Better be moving along now, though." She rested the helmet across her lap, checking the straps to stretch out a bit more time. Checking herself, inside, to see if she was sure about things. No, she decided. _'But sure is for wussies'._

"Well," Dean looked disappointed, slightly. More than slightly, maybe? "Good luck with your sister." Sam nudged him with an elbow, got shook off.

"Thanks." She paused, "Y'know... " She gave him a steady look as she pulled on the helmet. "I'm at the Marriott not far from here. And it has a nice, big bed in it." Paused again to let that register, then, "I can drop you off wherever your brother is staying if you need to move on tomorrow."

Elbow again from Sam. "I can take care of myself, you know."

Dean gave her an appraising look, "That would be 'direct', then." Faith nodded. "We don't even have a place to stay yet, Sam."

"Cell phone. Modern invention: I have one, you have one." Sam snickered, "Even if I was dropped on my head repeatedly, I can _still_ manage to locate a motel and get a room, Dean."

Dean shook his head, fishing the car keys out of his jacket. "I'm going to regret this," he flashed Faith a grin. "Not regret you - regret turning this idiot loose on an unsuspecting world without a keeper."

"_And_ with your car, mwahahaha!" Sam observed, snatching the keys out of his hand. "Ah - " he held up a hand. "I won't wreck it, I promise. Go."

Dean shook his head again, swinging a leg across behind Faith and holding onto her hips. "Better not. I'll wreck _you_." Sam stepped back out of the way grinning as she backed the big bike out of its space, then putting it in gear and taking off. Gave it just a little more gas than needed at the street to make him get a solid grip on her waist as they left.

**...**

She stretched languorously later, enjoying the buttery feeling in her muscles and the pleasant aches elsewhere. Much later... not a bad way to kill a good part of a night.

Kind of nice, she thought. And interesting. Not necessarily the sex, although that had been more than interesting as well. What was interesting was lounging after with no real urge to bolt and run immediately or kick the guy out of her room. Six months with Robin had at least been good for something, she reflected. Like making her comfortable finally with spending the night with, after.

_'Or else there really is something to the idea of sleeping with someone you kind of like,'_ she thought, _'rather than just the first vaguely attractive warm body that comes in reach.'_

Dean gave her a quizzical look, propped up on one elbow looking down at her. She smiled and he reached up to touch between her eyebrows, probably the slight furrow there. "Something going on in there?"

"Yup," she nodded, solemn. "Deep thoughts."

"Good ones, I hope?" He grinned.

"Not bad," she nodded. "But I'll never tell," she grinned back.

He trailed his fingertips down along her face and cheek, pausing over the lips, and then down. Leaving a tingling trail behind, it felt like. He paused over her stomach, tracing the old, ugly scar there that even slayer healing hadn't gotten rid of.

"Nasty," he said. "That looks like it hurt."

"Just a bit," she agreed. She put her hand over his.

"What happened?" Eyes curious. He had wondered about her speed and strength in that bar fight, she knew, but he hadn't asked. Still hadn't.

"Old friend stabbed me there."

Slightly shocked look at that, then his eyes narrowed. "Some friend."

"We... had our rough spots," she said, eyes dark. "No big, any more. We got past it, mostly."

"Good thing," he shook his head. "Too many arguments like that would strain things a bit."

She laughed, "Oh... it did. Believe me."

"I'll bet," he said, voice dry, then laughed softly. Grinned. "_This_ was kind of nice."

"Kind of?" She put on a hurt look, fighting a smile twitching at her lips.

"Ok, real nice. Incredible even." He laughed. "Pleasant surprise - not how I'd expected to end the evening."

"Me either," only a little lie there. She _had_ been looking, but hadn't really been expecting to _find_. Reasonably nice guy, too, and not just looks. Maybe not _'want, cherish, keep'_ material, but definitely a cut above _'grab and roll'_. No expectations, and not keep... at least not this time around. They both knew they were going to be heading their separate ways, either in the morning or in a day or so. Maybe if they crossed paths again in a few years, both older, and both having found what they were looking for...

"You and your brother going to be in Philly for a few days?" She surprised herself asking. At least there wasn't any needy tone, she was proud to notice. Just curiosity

"Probably not, no." He shook his head, obvious regret in the eyes. "We're on our way up to New York."

"Ah." She nodded, "In that case, waste not, want not." She sat up and took him by the shoulders, pushed him back, rolling over and settling on top of him looking down. Smiled, "Want, take, have," she growled softly. "You mind?"

**...**

_'Wow. That's one hell of a girl,'_ Dean Winchester thought. _'Might not hurt anything to spend another day or two in Philly before heading up north.'_ Woman, not girl, he corrected himself. There was something a lot older there than the nineteen or so Faith claimed for herself... attitudes, carriage, outlook. And at the same time, she could suddenly grin in delight at something and look about fifteen. He didn't think it'd be too hard to talk himself into putting off leaving for New York for a few days. Probably not that hard to talk Sam into agreeing. It had been a long time since Dean had wanted to spend more than a night with someone.

_'Getting too soft for the road life, Dean?'_ he wondered. _'Don't get too attached, you have things to do yet.'_ He listened to the sounds of Faith in the bathroom of the small suite and grinned. After their last bout of lovemaking followed by gentle conversation, she'd decided to get up and grab a bath before they made decisions on sleep or more.. not sleeping together. No shower before - they'd barely made it up to the room before tearing into each other. Left a trail of clothes all the way from the front door... he was going to need a new shirt before they hit the road again. Old one had maybe a short life as a car rag now, if that. Maybe violence and adrenaline really does kick it off, sometimes.

That got a frown going, remembering that bar fight. Tons of things about Faith that he still didn't know, and hadn't wanted to ask outright. It's not like he and Sam didn't have areas they didn't want pried into. But, there was more than just the 'older than her years' enigma to the young woman. Like why her eyes had that look that he'd seen in combat vets when he caught a look at her at unguarded moments. Where she learned to fight like that - he hadn't bought the glib explanation about picking it up around any more than Sam had. And the glimpses of strength and almost inhuman speed... He didn't think Sam had noticed some of that, he'd been too busy grabbing his winnings and dodging a pool cue. Dean though had watched her grab and throw a man almost a foot and a half taller and over twice her weight over six feet into another one. By the shirt collar and belt, yet. And she'd stopped that cue, dead, without flexing more than her forearm, then twisted it out of the hands of another pretty good sized man like taking a switch from a four year old.

He'd been over as close to every inch of her body at this point as was possible, and while there was muscle there, and tone, sure, there wasn't the kind of muscle mass that could do _that_. He didn't think a female body builder could pull that off. Or some _male_ body builders...

An odd sound from the bath room and splashing - not bathing splashes either - brought him out of his reverie. And a low choking scream from the same place brought him out of bed and onto his feet racing the short distance, caroming off of a wall corner and cursing himself for leaving all the weapons with Sam.

Shock brought him up short at the bathroom doorway, cursing. Faith was pinned, impossibly, to the ceiling, mouth moving soundlessly and eyes going dark. And blood dripping slowly from the knife scar on her abdomen onto the wet floor. Christ... was that damned _thing_ going to stalk both of them forever, a constant threat to anyone he or Sam touched or cared about? Just as it had his father and grandfather?

"Let her go, you bastard!" Fists balled and shouting futilely. Screaming wasn't going to help. Problem was... nothing he could think of was going to, either. No time to set up an exorcism - based on The Demon's previous possessions, Faith would burst into flames any moment, and be dead...

Faith's body arched suddenly against the ceiling, eyes going from almost white less and pupil less black to golden. Then glowing gold as she snapped forward at the waist, hands fisting. Dean stepped back, shocked, as a wordless snarl came out of her and then her hands crackled with some sort of green electrical glow and a pair of weird, wickedly curved double blades appeared in her fists. From out of nowhere - empty hands a second ago.

Whatever held her pinned to the ceiling fell away suddenly, like breaking a wire harness and she dropped, twisting to land crouched on the balls of her feet. Improbably not slipping in the water and blood on the floor and falling.

_"Get the fuck __out__ of me... "_ came out of her mouth in a low growl, nothing at all like the throaty sexy growling sound she'd made earlier. A predator's snarl. A black, oily smoke like substance began pouring out through her mouth and nose, almost coalescing into a humanoid form... before one of those weird blades arced through it from what would have been shoulder to hip if it'd been a man and it dispersed. Wafting away as if it'd never been there. She collapsed forward, coughing then, and landed on one knee and the knuckles of one hand, other blade held back by her head in a ready position.

He started to rush forward then, and those lambent eyes pinned him in place and that same growl said, "Stay back." There wasn't anything he recognized as human in those eyes, and he did, hands out, palms out. Trying to project calm and 'not threat' while his insides were doing flip flops

There seemed to be some sort of inner struggle going on there, and after a few long minutes, those eyes went dark brown again instead of golden, and there was another green crackle and those odd blades disappeared again.

Faith looked back out at him then, the woman he'd been holding and laughing with a short time ago, and she put her hand out and said, "Give me a minute... jeeze." She shook her head, "What the _fuck __was_ that thing?"

**...**

"You could call it our family demon, I guess," he said, watching her dry her hair sitting cross legged on the bed a short distance from him. Neither of them had thought to put clothes on, he realized suddenly. It hadn't seemed important. "It's been stalking our family for a long time... It killed our mother, and someone... else close to us." She gave him a sharp look at that, but didn't ask.

When he'd helped her up and helped her clean off a bit, they'd discovered the old scar had closed up again and wasn't oozing blood any longer. And no managers or hotel security - they evidently hadn't made enough noise to disturb anyone else nearby, even with all that, thank gods.

"You know, some people make do with a family dog," she remarked.

"I wish we could," he gave a horrid sounding laugh. "It'd be a lot less wear and tear on the people around us." She gave him a sympathetic look, then shook her head.

"So... demon keeping's the family business or something?"

"Or something... after my mom died, our dad took off hunting it." He shrugged, "Then after we discovered it was still haunting us, Sam and I went looking for him, and trying to figure out how to track and kill this thing along the way." A good enough summation, he thought. It left out way too much in details, but it still covered the basics. Hell... he owed her that much.

Faith laughed, "Great. An entire city full of guys, and I get the hots for one of the only two other demon hunters in a ten mile radius. It figures." She gave him a wry half grin. Ok, weird Not too freaked out, and taking all this way too much in stride...

"Yeah, demons and other things. We seem to keep stumbling across weird crap where ever we go," Dean shook his head, then frowned. "Wait a minute: 'other demon hunters'?"

She quirked an eyebrow and the grin got even more wry, "Yup. Faith. Slayer. That would be me." That got a blank expression from him, so she elaborated, "The Slayer. Traditionally, it's supposed to be 'Vampire Slayer', but Demon Slayer is more descriptive. I don't think it's ever been just vampires since I was Called."

Dean frowned, "Vampire Slayer? The Slayer? You say that like it's a title or something." He still had a somewhat blank expression.

"Doesn't ring any bells, huh?" She laughed, "It should: it falls under 'professional knowledge' for a demon hunter. Then again, I've never heard of _anything_ like your pet demon, so we're even up."

"Please, not a 'pet'," he objected. "Or if it is, it's the kind that eats your hometown after you accidentally feed it after midnight."

"Cool movie, but they ruined it with the sequel," Faith said. "Look... I really don't feel like doing 'The Speech' right now, so can we table that part?" He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Just... take it as a given for now: I'm a Slayer - someone who's a descendant of a line of young girls that some ancient shamans bound the essence of a demon hunting being into millenia ago. Mystical senses, ability to sense demons and supernatural creatures, more than human strength, reflexes, and healing abilities. I know you saw me in that bar fight... ?" Dean nodded. "Part of the package. It came on me when I was fifteen. An ancient demonic vampire killed my first... guardian, then chased me across the country to California were I went looking for help. I was running from it when I ran into your father, way back when."

"Ok... so," He shook his head. "So that was why the bit with the weird blades and glowing eyes?" She raised an eyebrow and he added, "I've never seen anything like that. What the hell did you do to get that thing out of you?"

"My eyes glowed?" Faith looked nonplussed.

"Yeah. Went from dark to gold, and then glowing gold. And this _snarl_ came out of you."

"Wow. No one's ever told me that before. Wicked." She frowned, "Slayer essence... the essence of the thing that makes us what we are. The other part of me evidently didn't like the new tenant and evicted him. It."

"Ah. There's something about that in the 'The Speech' thing you mentioned?" He looked at her. Faith nodded, sober.

"Maybe," She looked thoughtful. "I've never heard that a slayer couldn't be possessed. But I've never heard of one being possessed either. Probably some gaps in my knowledge." She shook her head, smiling, "But yeah, there's more to it. Just like there's more to your demon history than the capsule version you gave me."

"Yeah... guess both of us were keeping secrets, huh?" Dean shook his head. "Look... I'd better go. I'm a threat to you as long as we're together." He paused, remembering how he'd gotten there. "I can call Sam and wake him up to come get me."

"No. Don't... " She leaned forward and put her hand on his knee. "It's marked me now, right?"

He considered it, then nodded, eyes dark. "Maybe. Probably... most people don't survive it."

"Then it's a threat whether you stay or not, so stay," Faith smiled. "You have no idea how rare it is for me to not kick someone the hell out immediately after, much less ask them to stay over. I'd rather not sleep by myself the rest of the night."

"All right," he said, finally. Dean felt a half smile come over his lips, "It's an offer that's hard to refuse from a naked, gorgeous woman."

"Gorgeous, huh? I may keep you - you're good for my ego," she cocked her head, smiling. "You're not afraid of me, are you." Statement, not a question, and Dean considered it. Had to... incredible sex or not, this was a woman he'd seen take down several men twice her weight in seconds. And that he'd seen turn into some sort of weird predator thing with glowing eyes when she'd... evicted the demon from her body, then growl at him waving him off until she got herself back under control. Hrrm, that... she _had_ warned him off. And there'd never been a hint of threat from her toward Sam or himself.

"No. Not really," he said finally. "A bit freaked, but not afraid. You kept me back when whatever it was was going on with you until it was over... not the action of someone who's a threat."

"Cool," she said, and the full grin broke out over her face suddenly. "Always hard to tell how guys are going to react. If it comes back, we'll deal with it. Unless... " She got a thoughtful look, "Do you think I killed it? I don't sense it anywhere."

"Probably not, but who knows?" Dean shrugged. "As far as I know, there's only one thing that will kill it. But it's not much use in a situation like that."

Faith sighed. "Way it goes. Look... we can discuss all this tomorrow? Now I'm tired, my gut still feels shredded, and I'm nauseous. Been a rough night, the last thirty minutes or so - I'm ready to go to bed, you?"


	3. Chapter 3: One of the good guys?

**Chapter 3: **_**"One of the good guys?"**_

(Day 2; _Saturday, December 6, 2003_)

Dean elaborated on his and Sam's and their family's history with the Demon, as they called it, over breakfast the next morning. Late morning - closer to noon - and well after noon when they finished talking and eating. Breakfast following a much better shower after they'd gotten out of bed, with no demon interruptions and the two of them sharing it.

"Ok... " Faith had a thoughtful furrow between her eyebrows. "So it just possesses people, uses their bodies, and kills them. And it can only be killed with this ancient revolver."

"Right. Which will actually kill just about anything known, supposedly. We've been searching for it... haven't tracked it down yet."

"Huh. Never heard of a demon like this," Faith remarked. "Not that that means much... I haven't really had a Watcher or much access to one since mine was murdered. Wesley's been filling in, but that's not quite the same." She'd covered a somewhat more filled in version of the slayer and her own history as well, in between listening to his. She'd left out a lot of the prison stuff, but otherwise had been reasonably complete.

"Yeah, well... I've never heard of 'The Slayer', either. And now supposedly there's hundreds of you," Dean grinned. He'd had to borrow one of Faith's spare concert tees to come down in since his shirt was shredded.

Faith laughed and jabbed her fork in his direction, "No, only one of me. Hundreds of slayers."

"Ok," he held his hands up in mock surrender. "Two of you then. Your twin."

"Point." She took a bit of waffle and chewed thoughtfully, frowning a bit. "I can run the description past Wes, if you don't mind. Leaving your family stuff out of it?" He nodded. "I need to ask him about some other stuff I've been running across lately, anyway, next time we talk. No promises... he may not have anything either."

"I can deal with a long shot. Every little bit helps."

"Knowledge is power, right. And what you don't know kills you," she nodded. "I can ask Wes and another friend to check for any leads on that Colt, too... " she paused, thinking, and then her eyes narrowed. "Crap. No I can't, either."

Dean gave her a look. "Why not?"

"Mystical revolver that can kill almost anything supernatural? I like Wes, and I trust him, but... he is a professional demon hunter working with another group of demon hunters." She frowned, "Damned thing would be priceless. Same goes for the New Watcher's Council: they'd want it for their use. And you'd play hell getting it from them."

"Ah." Dean cocked his head, "What about you?"

"You've got first claim, as far as I'm concerned. Not going to make it a contest with you," Faith stated. "Got weapons. Don't need another one so bad I'll fight another hunter for one that they already have a claim on."

Dean studied her curiously, getting a flat look in return. Over the space of moments, she'd gone from friendly and relaxed to prickly and wary, with a look in her eyes that stated flatly that challenging her word on that wasn't a good idea. Not that doing so would start a fight - there wasn't anything of the sort in her body language. More a sense that not taking her word at face value would end with her simply getting up... and walking out. After a time, Dean nodded and she relaxed slightly.

Faith cocked her head slightly, "I hope you guys find your dad ok. You have a lead in New York to chase down?"

Dean shook his head, accepting the proffered change of subject. "No, not really. There was a rumor of a lot of disturbances up there recently, so we figured we'd go up and poke around. We were on our way up to Ohio to check into something when we heard about it, so we decided to hit New York first." He shrugged, "It's as good a direction as any right now... if there was a big supernatural disturbance, it's possible our dad may show up there looking into it also."

"Errr... oopsie?" Faith's eyes crinkled at him and she looked slightly embarrassed. "I see I forgot to mention the last few weeks of the Faith LeHane story." She raised her hand, "That would have been me."

"YOU created a massive demonic disturbance?" He stared at her.

"Wellllll... yeah, kinda." She laughed at his expression. "More like: ended one, and roiled things up all over Jersey City in the process It was a bit of a mess... " She shook her head, sighed, and launched into the tale of her and Robin's breakup, her leaving the IWC, and the week or so after that ending up with her running into him and Sam in Philly. It took awhile, especially with excited or incredulous interruptions from him for questions.

"Christ," Dean leaned back in his seat and stared at her, shaking his head. "I was picked up by a one woman demonic Arnie movie."

Faith laughed, eyes dancing, "Dear sirs. I never believed any of the stories in your magazine until one happened to me... " He spit coffee almost across the table, laughing.

"Yeah. Kind of like that." Dean shook his head again, "I'm almost in awe. I'm not sure if I should edge carefully away protecting my noogies, or grab you and keep you as a bodyguard."

Faith cocked her head, considering. "When in doubt, protect the noogies." They both laughed again.

"So, if Sam and I run across one of these demon bars and walk in and say 'We're friends of the Dark Slayer', are they going to run like hell or kill us slowly?"

"Depends on the bar. Vince will probably give you beer on the house," she laughed, "Other places... do the words 'dying slowly and in great pain' mean anything to you?"

"Yeah. Avoid if at all possible. I intend to live forever or die trying," He laughed. "That does make me kind of want to look up this Robin Wood and kick the crap out of him though. As long as we're in the neighborhood and all."

"Wow." She studied his face, "You really mean that. Not just something to say to impress the babe." She leaned back, looking at him oddly. He shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. "No worries, it's already been done. He's past history now."

"Yeah, well... " Dean changed the subject, "So this twin you're looking for is an image from the Dreamways experience?" She nodded. "How can you be sure you're... "

"Not chasing a chimera?" Faith shrugged, frowning. "No idea. Just feel it. Everyone else in that group are real people - people in my slayer dreams usually are. I'll find out, I guess."

"Good luck," he said, and meant it. "Does that mean that trying to convince you to change directions and hook up travels with us - me - is a lost cause?" His voice was light, but the eyes were serious.

She gave him a startled look. "Damn. You keep surprising me this morning." She thought for a long time, looking at him, then shook her head. "No. For the same reason I'm not going to ask you to drop your hunt and throw in with me: we both have a direction, and it wouldn't work. And the directions aren't the same." She grinned, "Doesn't mean I'm not going to try like hell to convince you and Sam to extend your stay in Philly for a few more days, though."

**...**

They spent part of the afternoon together and decided to meet up later along with his brother to discuss things. She dropped Dean off at the motel Sam had rented for them, got his cell number, and headed back to her own after a few brief stops along the way.

Fed, rested, and comfortably relaxed, in spite of the demon episode. She took her guitar out of its case, tuned it, and nattered around at things on it for a short time until she grew bored with practicing. Her eyes fell on her bag, finally, and she remembered the two packages Hannibal King had pressed on her just before she left New Jersey along with an 'Open them somewhere safe when you get a chance'. Time to stop putting it off, she decided, and went to her bag to draw them out. Her life wasn't going to get much safer anywhere. She set them out on the bed and settled in where she could open them, hesitating. Opening them was going to kill the enjoyment of anticipation and speculating on them that had been one of her major reasons for putting it off.

_'Oh well. That's kind of stupid anyway,'_ she thought. _'Can't trade the anticipation in on the enjoyment of what's in them until I do.'_

Nodding decisively, she reached and unlocked the first and popped the latches. Going for the briefcase sized wooden one first, remembering King's admonition. Her breath caught in her throat when she lifted the lid, and she picked up the folded note lying on top of the contents to read, almost absently.

_"Faith -_

Here you go. Blade made some suggestions, but I made the choices based on what you liked and seemed to have an affinity for out of our armory. These should do the job on anything you really want _to shoot with a handgun, with the right loads. Enjoy._

The smaller case has an assortment of rounds from what I had on hand, mostly silver, but some sundogs and incendiaries as well. You can get factory ammunition for practice: I kept the caliber choices fairly standard for that. I'm going to suggest that you find a range wherever you end up for anything more than a day or two and get in as much practice as possible - at least a few hundred rounds at a time or more. Remember the drill: accuracy first, let speed follow after.

I've included cards for LFI and Gunsite in the smaller case, along with those of a few competent gunsmiths across the US. I definitely recommend signing up for courses at both as we'd discussed after you gain more basic competency. You'll want to add a decent rifle and shotgun for Gunsite as well... you already know my recommendations based on what you hunt. Also suggest strongly getting a residence in one of the more gun-friendly states and getting a concealed carry permit. They come in handy, even if not having one won't be any more of a bar than it is for carrying all of the steel when you need to. You'll need leather gear also: there's some recommendations in the second case as well.

Let us know when you have a shipping address, and I'll send along additional specialized rounds as I get them worked out and made up. The other special items can be recharged if you recover them, but have no idea what the recharge life is like: we usually don't recover them.

Take care, and stay in touch,  
- King"

Nestled into black felt recesses inside the main case were four handguns, with a row of sixteen UV-grenades in slots above and below them. The big, engraved Wildey semi-auto she'd liked, the LAR Grizzly semi-auto, and a Kimber 1911. With an elegant five-and-a-half inch barreled single action nestled in at the second row with the Kimber. Not the big Ruger she'd used in training and practice there, but a different one. She picked it up out of the case and did a practice spin after checking the cylinder to make sure it was empty. A Texas Longhorn Arms Keith Model Grover No. 5 in .454 Cashull, it said along the barrel and edges of the cylinder. With a second cylinder marked in .45 Winchester Magnum

She looked at the others: all in .45 Winchester Magnum as well, except for the Kimber which was in 10mm Auto. She leaned back against the pillows and headboard, eyes soft and distant, doing gunfighter twirls with the Keith and remembering...

_They'd discovered that she wasn't recoil shy in pretty short order, once she got used to the noise, and moved up from the .22's and light .38's. She emptied the big revolver, switched to the semi-auto and finished the firing string. Reloaded both as she'd been shown, King's eyes watching the deft movements of her hands. Emptied both pistols again, and stepped back, setting them on the bench._

"Ok, so we know slayer gift's not much for guns," she said, pulling down her hearing protectors. Faith gave a rueful look at the 18" group on the target seven yards away. "I may as well stick to rocks," she gave Hannibal a lopsided grin.

"Heh. Fewer moving parts?" He quipped, and she laughed.

"Yup. Beat, rend, kill." She snickered, "Hulkette smash."

_"Naw." He shook his head. "You picked up the mechanics faster than anyone I've ever seen: sights, cocking and firing, reloading," he nodded at the bench. "You fire and reload that single action faster than most 'experts' can a double action revolver."_

He looked at the target and reeled it in to change it, "Just doesn't seem to help on the accuracy thing."

She shook her head and laughed, agreeing. Regarded him regarding her while he considered, absently picking up the big single action and doing gunfighter spins while she waited. Unloaded - she checked it again first, anyway: that had already been drilled in until it was reflex: 'Guns have a limited mentality. You're going to play with them, make damned sure they know you're playing. No such thing as a safe firearm.'

"Just means you need to slow down, and work at accuracy until it's second nature, since the slayer-thing doesn't seem to help with that. It's an acquired skill: practice, practice, practice. Add speed after." He watched the sure movements, raised an eyebrow. "Hannie Caulder. Didn't know you were 'gunfighter girl'."

She looked down, puzzled for a moment and then laughed when she saw what her hands were doing and shrugged. "Feels natural."

"Looks damned natural, too," he grinned.

"Dude," she responded. "Rio Bravo," she elaborated, when his eyes stayed blank and the other eyebrow went up. "Dean Martin's character: recovering drunk gunfighter with magic hands. And other roles. He could make a Colt look alive."

"Ah." He looked her over. "Never figured you for a westerns girl."

"Ha. Shows you." She grinned. "I loved those things when I was a kid. Watched all of them. Major contrast with South Boston and the dump we lived in." Faith leaned back against the divider post, looking through King. "Rio Bravo, El Dorado, Commancheros, The Cowboys, Broken Arrow, Shootist, Pale Rider, Jose Wales, Red Sun, Magnificent Seven... " She smiled, "True Grit, Big Jake, Quigley Down Under... Horses, guns, wide open range, and codes of honor."

"Mostly John Wayne?"

She nodded, eyes distant. "Yeah. I used to fantasize that Wayne was my dad, since I never knew my real one. Big gruff man, hard as nails, but gentle... someone to beat the fuck out of my mom's 'boyfriends'. Big brother like Dean-o."

Hannibal shook his head slightly as she continued, "My mom dumped cold water on that. She didn't think cap guns and chaps were for 'little girls'. Barbies and crap. Not like she ever gave enough of a shit to buy any of those..." Faith snorted, "Had a beat up Crossman single-action that didn't work, I found somewhere. Use to practice the moves til it disappeared.."

"Mom made it go away?" Hannibal's voice was quiet.

"Maybe," Faith seemed to focus on him again. "Or one of her one nighters grabbed it and pawned it." She shrugged.  
_  
"Crap," he winced slightly._

"Yeah." She did another short spin with the big pistol, looking down at it. "Would have been kind of hard, considering I found out Wayne died long before I was born. Still... the losers didn't look so tough compared to the real thing."

Hannibal gave a slight snort, "Real thing who made movies about World War II, but never went, while a lot of his friends did?"

Faith shot him a glance, eyes narrowed slightly. "And felt horrible about it and beat hell out of himself over it for decades? You never failed your image, and then kicked yourself for falling short? Too late to go back?"

He opened his mouth, shut it, and considered. Nodded. "Smart ass."

"Yup," She laughed, softly. "Yeah, I read the biographies. And the whiny tell-alls by the kid Waynes. No illusions." She snorted, "Like they knew what 'having it rough' was like."

Hannibal nodded, "Still... "

"Hey - the real thing. Wayne, Stewart, Bronson, Mitchum. They did real shit and made real mistakes and had real regrets. Had real lives." She shrugged, "Not like the whingey pretty boys Hollywood calls actors these days."

"No arguments there."

"Yeah. You're an authentic bad ass, and Blade too. You know the difference." She grinned, "You've both done shit and bled over it." She looked distant again... "The punks my mom used to drag in would have shit themselves if they had to raise a family, provide, and earn a real living. Sweat for their kids and be there. Or handle the responsibilities we do. Don't have to go to war to be the real thing... "

Dark eyes met King's and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a sour smile, "What. Me bitter? Naw... " She snickered.

He gave a lopsided smile. 'I'd say you have reason,' he thought. Instead, he said, "Ready to do some more practice, Gunfighter Gal?"

"Sure thing, Tex. Roll 'em out." She put on the hearing protectors and began loading the handguns, hands fast and certain on the movements. "Slower this time, huh?"

The leather case was filled with plastic fifty round ammunition boxes, a charger for the UV-grenades, and extra clips for the various semi-autos. 'Magazines', she corrected herself, not clips. The cards he'd mentioned were tucked into pockets at the top of the case, with manuals and additional instructions in the bigger pocket in the lid. Details on the ammo and loads, what to use for practice ammo, cartridges the big revolver would take in addition, and suggestions on what was available in standard factory ammunition. A list of websites of manufacturers of various rifles and shotguns...

_'King, you bastard,'_ she thought, _'I'm never going to be able to pay this back. Have to figure out a way __to pay it forward, I guess... '_ Have to love a man who gives you weapons went through her mind, and one who knows how to show a girl a good time. She laughed, eyes bright, _'One of these days people are going to stop surprising me. I hope I never live long enough to see that.'_

It was a lot different from the ways people _used_ to surprise her. Until the point where she quit being surprised by them and started expecting it...

She found a better place in the carrier box to store the handgun and ammunition case, but kept the big single action out to examine and hold for a time.

**...**

Flashing lights, yellow crime scene tape, uniforms, a Best Western motel, and an ambulance pulling away. Detective Kevin O'Brien, Major Cases Task Force of the Philadelphia Major Crimes Division, pulled the unmarked Crown Victoria into the nearest empty area by the police barricades.

"Looks like we beat Tommy here for once," his partner, Detective Frank Giambione remarked.

"Yeah. Let's go find out what we beat him to, shall we?" O'Brien reached up and pulled the unmarked's dome light off and set it inside on the dash before getting out. Frank was already opening his door and climbing out to stand waiting for him at the front of the car.

Not much chance that what they had was a 'simple' rape, homicide, or robbery, not if Major Cases had been called in for it. That made it pretty much a sure bet that it was going to be odd in some fashion, especially these days. Also a given that as soon as they finished getting the preliminaries, the two Violent Crimes plain clothesmen currently on the scene were going to have it taken off their hands. Major Cases technically handled the cities serial killers, serial and repeat rapes, bizarre assaults, and just about anything else that didn't fit into one of the neat little division boxes of robbery, homicide, burglary, violent crimes, or organized crimes.

These days, it seemed like it was also almost a certainty it would fit into the department's unofficial 'weird crimes' classification. Crimes that technically didn't exist, and never showed up on the blotters.

Detective Beltzer from Violent waved them over with a relieved look as he saw them coming under the tape at the edge of the lot. His partner, Detective Higgs, merely gave them a bored look and took out his case notebook as they came up.

"Higgs, Beltz," O'Brien nodded to them. "Whatta we have here?"

"Obie," The slender black detective shook his head, and after checking his notes flipped his book shut. "Two white males, ages nineteen to early twenties. IDs name them as Sam and Dean Winchester, respectively. Someone crashed into their room and beat pure hell out of both of them approximately an hour after dark." He looked out to the street, "Ambulance took them away just before you got here."

"Any witnesses?" Giambione asked. Beltzer shook his head.

"Naw. Rooms next door either side empty. Couple two rooms over heard shouting and crashing sounds, and called it in," Beltzer said. "Uniforms are canvassing the area now to see if anyone saw anything."

"Well, maybe," Higgs added. "Couple that called it in said when they looked out their window, they saw a blond white woman walking across the parking lot toward the street. Guy said and I quote 'one hot looking babe' end quote. You probably don't want to know what his female companion had to say about that."

"Ha. I can probably fill it in verbatim," O'Brien smirked. "What makes it one of ours?"

"You'll see when you get the crime scene photos and talk to the EMTs," Higgs said. Beltzer rolled his eyes and made a casual gesture with two forked fingers at the side of his neck. Giambione gave him a disgusted look and O'Brien shook his head.

"Anything else?" O'Brien didn't roll his eyes, but he gave an inward sigh. Another crime scene that would never be officially listed as solved, and that lately it seemed a number of the brass would rather wasn't looked into too deeply 'unofficially', either.

Beltzer shrugged, "Forensics team's on the way, ME's done the prelim on the room and vicinity, and the crime scene photog's already taken his pics." He not only looked bored, he also looked more than ready to turn it over to Major Cases and get on with his and his partner's shift. Elsewhere.

"Pretty much," Biggs said. "One weapon found in the room: silver Colt 1911 with engravings, looks to be at least semi-custom. Uniforms recovered and bagged and tagged it, you can get it from the crime lab people after they finish with it. We didn't step into the evidence chain on it since this looked to be going to your squad."

"Gun?" Giambione frowned. "Not used?"

"No shots heard, doesn't seem to have been. Uniform said it didn't smell fired." Biggs shrugged, "We passed on to the EMTs to test for residue on the victims."

Beltzer shook his head, "Whoever the perp was, it had to be one strong mutha. Both vics were pretty well beaten all to hell, and both of them were pretty husky kids, well built and in good condition. At least before this, anyway."

"Get a statement from the desk clerk?" O'Brien

"Uniforms talked to him. He didn't check them in, they came in last night on his off night," Higgs said. "No one's located last night's clerk for us yet." He made a face: "They had a damned arsenal in the trunk of their car, too. It's all in the evidence list and reports. Have fun." He tapped his pen on the notebook, "We done yet?"

"Not yet," O'Brien gave him a sardonic grin. "Fill out your reports, full details, sign them, and send them over to Major Cases. Including transcripts of any witnesses and uniforms you interviewed. Then you're done."

"Oh, crap, O'Brien," Beltzer made a disgusted face.

"Ah. Don't start," O'Brien warned. "I know you'd rather just shelve all that. But - until this has been round filed and officially made unofficial, it's an actual case. We're gonna treat it like one, and that means reports, signatures, evidence chains, and the full nine yards."

"Yeah," Giambione smirked. "You never know when Mulder and Scully are going to drop in on one of these and demand jurisdiction. We don't want to look like amateurs when the feebies want to audit our local procedures, right?" O'Brien shot him a sour grin. The FBI's paranormal case division reportedly didn't bear any resemblance to the fictional 'X-Files' series, but it did exist, and did on occasion take jurisdiction over some of the more bizarre cases. Not likely, but it happened - and with the number of odd crimes Philly'd seen in the past five plus years, they might even be overdue.

O'Brien waved off the two plainclothes cops with another admonition to get their paperwork to him, and then he and Giambione went over to talk to the uniformed officers that had been first on the scene. The older, Hispanic officer nodded as they came up. "Detectives," he said.

"Officer Montoya? You and your partner were the first on the scene?" O'Brien nodded back to them. "What you got for us?"

Montoya and his female partner filled them in concisely on what they'd found on arrival, and on the actions they'd taken after calling for an ambulance and calling it in. "Pretty messed up," Montoya finished, "Looked like those two boys went twelve rounds with a three hundred and fifty pound heavyweight. Both unconscious - as far as we could tell, they opened the door to the perp, it crashed in on the first one, and then whoever it was followed it in and walked all over them."

Giambione shook his head, "Any luck with the parking lot camera tapes?"

Montoya gave him a disgusted look. "No way. Surveillance camera's busted on this side - night man says they've been reporting it to get it repaired for weeks."

"Figures," O'Brien snorted. "Any additional witnesses yet?"

"One possible," Montoya's partner said. "One guy said he saw an 'expensive looking blonde' crossing the parking lot toward the stairs while he was on his way back to his room. This would have been about five to ten minutes or so before he heard the crashing and shouting sounds from up above. He said he didn't look out after that."

"Gotta love people who mind their own business," O'Brien remarked. "You get any better description than 'an expensive looking blonde'?"

"From the neck down, anyway," Montoya laughed. "We wrote it all down with what the couple that phoned it in had to say, it's on our reports. Manager's name and the name of the evening clerk who checked them in last night is on there also."

"List of all the room occupants on this side from the desk as well? Names and details?" Giambione asked.

"Got it from the clerk," Montoya nodded. "Everything we saw or noticed is in there."

"Good job. All right... sign off on it, and make sure a copy of those reports and notes get to Major Cases," O'Brien said. "You can go back on patrol after you finish filing your paperwork. Where'd the ambulance take the victims?"

"Philadelphia General," the female uniform said.

"Our next stop then, after we finish up here," Giambione said. "Guess we'll pick up the canvassing and follow ups from here after forensics gets done."

**...**

She killed part of the afternoon with a movie on cable she'd been wanting to see. Her lifestyle the past several months, hell, years really, had kind of left her out of the popular entertainment loop. There were movies made in the late-90s that she still hadn't seen...

A workout, a swim, and a shower followed by a snack in the Marriott's restaurant finished off the rest of the afternoon, and hunting websites for pistol belts and holster gear via her laptop and the hotel's wifi service took her well into the evening.

Finished with her online window shopping, she took to browsing the various weird news sites looking for tips on things that might bear having a slayer's eyes look into them, concentrating on items and tidbits between Philly and Oklahoma City. No full time Watcher. Not-a-computer-geek or no, she'd better get used to doing her own research. Some time later, she glanced at the room's window, frowning as she realized that it had gotten well past dark on her at some point.

Past dark, and no phone call from Dean suggesting they hook up somewhere, as they'd agreed on...

_'Ok, so maybe they got tied up in something. No big, Faith,'_ she thought. But Dean hadn't sounded like they'd had anything in Philly to get tied up with, other than heading out north to New York City today. _'So maybe Sam didn't agree to stay over, and they left, then.'_ And didn't call to say. Faith was startled at the hurt feeling that shot through her as that went through her mind. And no big, still. No commitments, right? And guys do the 'get some, get gone' thing too, even seemingly nice ones...

She wasn't going to call, she decided. Not going to call, like some needy little girl trailing after the guy. An hour later, she switched off the TV she hadn't been watching and she still wasn't going to call. Nope, definitely not. She was getting up to start getting her gear together to load on the bike and check out in preparation for blowing on down south. She packed the single action away, not wanting to carry it on the road. Stood for a long time looking into the open pistol case and holding King's folded note in her hand, eyes distant...

Listening to Dean's cell phone ring and thinking _'Yeah, you've definitely got this not calling thing five-by-five, Faith. You may wanna work on that, some, yanno?'_ Frowning as the cell rang and rang and then went into voice mail. She left one absently, barely aware of what it was, with _'Ok, so he's got it switched off, no big,'_ going through her head.

Two more calls and an hour later, no more voice mails left, and she had the big bike in gear heading toward Sam and Dean's motel some eight blocks away.

Definitely not of the good. Cruisers, unmarked cars, flares, police tape, and flashing lights everywhere at the front and side of the Best Western she'd dropped Dean off at this afternoon. Wrong side of the Best Western - right side for their room, wrong side to ease the sick feeling in her gut when she saw the flashers. She cruised on past and parked a couple of blocks away, walking back casually along the sidewalk to join the small crowd of curious onlookers and bystanders watching the cops do police and forensics type stuff.

Breath fogging in the early night chill, she caught the eye of a twenty something black guy checking her out while she watched the show. "Any idea what happened?" She asked him.

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Couple white guys got themselves killed, I think." He shifted from one foot to the other. Not that cold, but colder than his light jacket was good for, "I'm just waitin' for the po-po to finish up so I can get to my room, y'know?"

She nodded, and started to turn back to watching, trying to figure out how to get to where she could see what room was being investigated.

"Naw. Not killed," another man put in, evidently overhearing the exchange. Business looking type, or dressed as one.

"Really?" She lifted an eyebrow and gave him an inquiring look.

"Yeah. Saw the ambulance taking them out. They don't go that fast when they're just hauling bodies." He looked her over, "You have a room here too?"

"Staying with my boyfriend," she nodded. "You know what room's involved?"

The black guy shrugged, "Heard one of the uniforms say something 'bout room 204, why?"

"Not far from ours. Damn - going to be awhile before we can get back in then," Faith made a disgusted face. A couple of uniformed cops came out and started moving back people who'd gotten too close to the police lines, and began edging back into the crowd while everyone was distracted. She saw a crime scene reporter for one of the Philly papers talking with a pair of the plain clothes types as she made her way out of the crowd and up the block before crossing, taking a less than direct route back to her bike.

Two-oh-four. Sam and Dean's room. Crap. Well... that explained the unanswered cell, anyway. She wondered if it had been ringing in front of some detective who was logging the calls and number in his little notebook. Or vibrating away in a box at an ER's admissions desk. Which ER? Something close, and something city or county, probably. She needed a phone book with one of those little locater maps. She changed directions again and went hunting for a nearby restaurant that might have one...

Easy enough to find. She jotted down hospital names and numbers on a receipt back she dug out of her coat pocket, rather than ripping the page out. A couple of quick calls on her cell managed to net her the information that yes, one of them did have a Sam and Dean Winchester admitted to ER a couple of hours ago, from a bored and harried sounding ER desk nurse. Different hospital from the one she'd done her family research at. She avoided questions as to whether she was family with the expedient of hanging up, and looked up the place on the locater map. Not too far away, but farther than she'd hoped. She did grab the locater map page as she headed out and for her bike.

The hospital wasn't too hard to find, even for someone not all that familiar with Philadelphia, and the nice thing about a motorcycle is that it's not hard to find a place to park if you don't care much about whether you have to walk a bit to get somewhere.

She leaned on the ER desk at the window watching the woman manning it until she attracted notice finally. Busy night, it looked like... and not even a weekend.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah. I'm looking for a Dean Winchester and his brother?" She smiled, "I was told on the phone they'd been admitted a few hours back."

The woman frowned and checked her systems, "They're in ICU. Visitors are limited to family for critical patients, are you a family member?"

"Dean's fiance," Faith lied glibly, hand fisted under her other one to hide the lack of a ring. "As close as you're going to get to family here in this city."

The woman was distracted by some intern coming up while Faith was trying to get the location of ICU out of her, telling Faith to wait, and Faith slipped away while they were wrapped up in discussion over charts. ICU couldn't be that hard to find, and it wasn't... not if you walked like you had business there, followed signs, and asked the occasional intern or janitor. She drifted through like a ghost, attracting no attention in the busy hospital, and leaving no signs of her passing aside from the occasional harried intern who might remember the pretty dark haired girl in leather and long coat who'd asked for directions.

Tubes and bandages and IV units. Various monitors and equipment. Unconscious And a patch taped over the junction of neck and shoulder at the left side... Faith stood over Dean Winchester's ICU bed and noted bruises and contused areas with a professional's eye for applied violence. Someone had done a thorough job of working him over for maximum pain and damage. Non-lethal damage - this looked to have been calculated not to kill, short of accident. And she'd have bet money that the patch covered a pair of puncture type wounds over the jugular or carotid. Beaten and drained, both stopping well short of death. Likewise for younger brother Sam, a few beds over.

_'Death is my Gift, and it follows me around like a puppy,'_ she thought. _'I'm getting tired of this shit.'_

Not dead, so they hadn't been turned. No way of telling now if they'd been made to drink in an attempt to make them familiars. She wondered if the ER staff had checked for blood in the mouths, knowing what to look for even as they hid it behind careful euphemisms the way the Sunnydale hospitals had. Wondered if the crime scene reporter would write it up as a strange BBQ fork assault, assuming it made the papers at all.

_'Hard to be an active familiar if the vamp that blooded you is dead,'_ went through her mind in a distant fashion. _'Seek, hunt, kill.'_ Maybe if she'd gone hunting during her first nights here, cleaned out the areas in a radius around her hotel... too late, now. Have to settle for killing every vamp in a twelve or so block radius around the Winchester brother's place. You don't let this type of thing go - they don't get anyone for free.

She wasn't sure how long she stood by the bed holding Dean's hand, willing him to live and get well. Wasn't certain when she made the decision to leave for now to hunt, and come back later. She was only aware that time had passed and a nurse was giving her a curious look, coming over to check the IV and the charts and dressings. She stroked the hand she was holding and laid it on the covers, murmuring that she'd be back and left, giving the curious nurse a distracted smile and a nod.

She was halfway down the hall and moving with purpose when she became aware that she'd heard hurried footsteps after her and a voice saying, "Miss. Hold up. Hey - hold up there." Realized that that was the second time it'd called out to her. Male voice, two sets of footsteps.

She turned lazily, stopping. Older man, saturnine features, wiry hair and kind of grizzled looking. Tall... maybe six foot plus a bit. Late forties. Wearing a trench coat over a rumpled suit. 'Cop,' the back of her mind supplied. Somewhat younger one wearing a three piece and a trench coat, better cut and quality. Long, knobbly kind of face, light curly hair, and a good natured smirk. Cute, if you liked cops. Faith gave them a flat and incurious look as they caught up to her.

"Detective Kevin O'Brien, Major Crimes. This is my partner Detective Frank Giambione." the older one said, showing her his badge and ID folder. "We saw you come out of the ICU ward just now, like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

Faith felt the lazy grin come over her, "If I mind, does that mean you won't ask me a few questions?" The younger cop snickered, and his partner shot him an annoyed look.

"Means I'd have to wonder why you mind, young lady," O'Brien snapped. "I'd like to see some ID, please."

"At least you said the Magic Word," Faith looked him over, bemused. Still distant from the whole thing, mind elsewhere. "Is that a 'like', or a 'requirement', Detective?"

O'Brien frowned. There wasn't a bit of the usual nervousness that most citizens had on being questioned by plain clothes police in the young woman. Her expression was amused, if anything, and the look she was giving them was appraising, incurious. A predators look, went through his mind, glancing over lesser predators. His partners equally amused expression wasn't helping his mood, not after the strange crime scene they'd come here from. "Requirement, Miss." He nodded at the motorcycle helmet dangling by its strap from one of her arms. "You're required to carry it, and required to show it if asked by a police officer engaged in his duties. Now." He held out his hand.

She firmly reined in her inner smartass, and nodded. Not firmly enough, evidently, because as she was fishing her wallet out of her coat pocket, what came out of her mouth was, "Thought that 'your papers please' was an Eastern Europe requirement, not an American one." She pulled out her drivers license, and her passport folder and handed both of them over to him, passport opened.

"Things changed after 9/11, miss," the younger one supplied, still smiling slightly. The blue eyes weren't smiling any more though, she noticed.

"So they keep telling me," Faith nodded. "I haven't noticed. They just seem to have gotten more so." She smiled, "It's 'Miss LeHane'. Faith LeHane," she told the younger one. She thought she saw a flicker of something - recognition perhaps? - at the name in the older cop's eyes.

O'Brien looked over the license and the other, noted the passport stamps. She watched as he handed his partner the license and passport and motioned with his head. The younger detective nodded to her, and moved off to what he probably thought was out of earshot, pulling a cell phone from his pocket.

"You were visiting the bedside of a patient we're interested in who was the victim of an assault earlier," O'Brien stated. "Are you an acquaintance of Mr. Winchester and his brother?"

Faith shook her head and laughed softly, "I'm tempted to say no, I just wander the hospital district holding the hands of various ICU patients. It's a fetish." She held her hand up, palm out in a surrender gesture as he glared and started to say something, "I said 'tempted'. I'm trying to stifle my inner smartass today. Yes, Detective O'Brien, I'm acquainted with Dean and his brother Sam. I met them last night, we had hamburgers at a diner in town, and then I went back to my hotel with Dean and we spent the night there. We spent the day together until around early or mid afternoon, when I dropped him off at where he and his brother were staying." Her eyes crinkled at the corners, "That's an acquaintanceship if you care to define it. Be interesting to see what you put in your report."

"Short acquaintance. Can you prove any of that?" O'Brien wasn't amused, obviously.

"Nah. I didn't check in as 'Faith LeHane and guest', and I didn't bother to tell the front desk I brought a friend in to stay the night."

"You told the ER desk that you were Dean Winchester's fiance, correct?"

"Yeah. They said only family members could come back," Faith nodded. "I'm surprised she remembered that."

"It jogged her memory when we asked if anyone had been trying to see him. A badge does that sometimes," O'Brien said in a dry voice.

"Handy," Faith agreed. "Helps with fishing expeditions." Her expression was still bemused, and O'Brien's was definitely not amused. She made a mental note to rein in harder: was going to be difficult to hunt from inside a holding cell if she pissed him off too much. Besides, he had a job to do that wasn't all that different from hers. Not his fault that their respective jurisdictions were incompatible. His partner, Giambone folded his cell phone up and put it away, and came back over. He jerked his head to O'Brien in a decidedly 'we need to talk' manner. O'Brien nodded and gave her a hard look.

"Wait right here, Miss. Don't go anywhere." He and Giambone moved up the hall aways, but not out of sight, the younger one still holding her ID. She found a spot on the wall nearby and leaned back out of the way of passing orderlies and nurses, arms folded and feet crossed at the ankles in front of her, watching them.

She wasn't going to point out that they needed to move much farther away if they wanted to be out of earshot. She listened to Giambione filling in his partner on what the mid-south computers had coughed up regarding her, along with the FBI database, NICS or something. Made for interesting listening, if you weren't already intimately familiar with it. She was glad she'd left the majority of her hardware in her bag... O'Brien shot a raised eyebrow look at her as Giambione filled him in. A pity that her previous records hadn't been sealed when her convictions were reversed and she was cleared, only the actual hearings. O'Brien shook his head, and they came back over to her. She noticed that this time, the younger detective stood a bit to one side as she unfolded from the wall and nodded at his partner.

"After you dropped off Dean Winchester at his motel, what did you do for the rest of the afternoon and evening, Miss LeHane?" Bored tone to O'Brien's voice, but the eyes were anything except bored.

"Went back to the Marriott," Faith shrugged. "Watched a movie on Pay-per-View... something with Nicolas Cage that I don't recall the name of at the moment. It wasn't very good. Watched 'Wormhole Xtreme' reruns on Sci-fi for a bit. Started another movie until I got bored and left it on for background noise. Let's see... used the room's wifi to browse the internet for awhile. Ate, had a shower, a swim, and a workout somewhere in there."

"Until when?" The younger one asked. He'd stopped checking her out, she noticed. Was looking at her as a potential suspect now, not potential hot girl.

"Few hours after dark? Didn't notice the time," Faith frowned, "Let's see... gets dark around six here in November, so... around eightish or nineish, maybe?"

"Can you verify any of that?" O'Brien gave her a curious look.

"Maybe, some? Room records should show the PPV, and they probably log access time so they can bill you for the wifi use. Have to sign in at the gym... " She thought, shook her head, "Other than that, depends on if anyone at the restaurant remembers me, or the pool."

"How did you end up here posing as Dean Winchester's fiance?" the younger one asked. Bored expression. Nice 'cop look' on that one, Faith thought.

"Dean was supposed to come by with his brother so the three of us could have dinner together," Faith said. "It got late, they didn't, I got worried. No answer on his cell phone other than voice mail, so I finally went over to their motel and found the police circus. And here we are."

"How did you find them here," he pressed.

"Hah. Easy enough: asked people in the crowd out front of the motel what happened, listened a lot to the gossip. If you don't want information to get around, remind your uniforms to not talk in front of the bystanders," Faith saw O'Brien's expression definitely get annoyed at that. "Called hospitals til I found one that had a Winchester in it, and came here." She gave O'Brien a level look, and asked, "Are we done now? May I go?"

"Not just yet, Miss," he shook his head. "Your last residence of record is New York City, a school on the outside of Manhattan. What are you doing in Philadelphia?"

Faith frowned, "That's verging on 'none of your business', but I'll answer it anyway: I came here to do some research into my family background and attempt to find and talk to the doc that delivered me."

"Mamn," the younger detective put in, "We're engaged in an assault and attempted homicide investigation. What you're doing in our city very much is our business."

"Transient," She said, flatly. "Passin' through on my way south. Next?"

"Am I to understand that you're now refusing to cooperate with our questioning, Miss LeHane?" O'Brien asked, mildly. Nothing really mild there, Faith noted. Steel under the tone.

Faith cocked her head and gave him a curious look, "Straight questions, Detective: am I a suspect in your investigation? And am I about to be arrested and charged with something?"

"We have a violent assault, two men in the hospital who were almost beaten to death, both of whom have some odd wounds," O'Brien replied. He did 'hard look' and 'flat voice' very well, Faith noted. "And we have you: someone who is acquainted with both of them, posing as a fiance to gain access to the victims, and who has a decided history of violent assault as we say in the business. I'd say that gives us the right to a bit of curiosity, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, it does," Faith nodded. "That doesn't include the right to have that curiosity satisfied, and that wasn't an answer to my questions."

"Now look here," O'Brien moved up, crowding her space. "I would prefer to do this informally. I'm trying very hard to give you the benefit of the doubt, because if your whereabouts check out, then it's very unlikely that you were at that motel while these two men were being beaten. However - your past record from LA tells me that you give a bad odor to all of this. I can and will finish this interview downtown if you'd rather."

"Then I'm not under arrest and I'm not being charged and read my rights, correct?" She held his eyes until he nodded, looked at the younger one until she saw confirmation there. "Cool. I'm all for settling this informally. I didn't put Dean and Sam in the hospital, and I want the same thing you do: to know who did and see them taken care of. But if we're going to do 'informal', then back off on the hostility, please. Or I can and will let you arrest and charge me, and then I'll sit downtown with my mouth firmly shut until my attorneys get here and you can question them to your heart's content, because I'll have reached the end of my tolerance for 'voluntary' cooperation that isn't voluntary."

Both detectives gave her hard looks, studying her until it was apparent that she wasn't going to fold or look away from O'Brien's flat stare. Faith added in an even tone, "Look, Detective O'Brien, I'm aware that you and your squad are among what are probably the handful of very few clean cops in a city with one of the most corrupt departments this side of Chicago or Detroit. You're one of the good guys as far as I'm aware, and I'm not one of the bad guys. I'm really not your enemy, and I'd rather you weren't mine."

Finally, O'Brien nodded and stepped back, saying in a somewhat milder tone, "All right, we'll try informal for now." He gave her a curious look, "One of the good guys?"

"Hey - I read a LOT of online news, especially on places I'm planning to visit. Your name comes up here and there. And Tom Kirkwood's Night Heat column is a favorite of mine. He seems to think pretty highly of you and your squad." She cocked her head, "When it's winter coming on, does he change it to Night Chills?" Giambione shook his head, hiding a smile, and O'Brien shrugged. "Yeah, I have a 'history of violence' as you say. Your records search probably also turned up that my convictions were reversed and I was cleared six or seven months ago. I'm a legal citizen now, and I'm not a criminal."

"All right, let's go with that for now,' O'Brien nodded. "What can you tell us?"

"Not a hell of a lot. I met Dean last night, liked him and his brother, spent the night and part of the day with him. Got concerned when they stood me up and it got late, because he didn't seem like the boff-n-run type. Went looking, found the police circus, came here." She shrugged, "I really am here trying to find information on my family background - what I had was sketchy. If you check with Philadelphia General, you'll find I spent the majority of the past several days there from early until late asking questions and filling out forms for information."

"Do you have any idea who might have wanted to beat up the two of them and put them in the hospital, or the morgue?" Giambione asked.

"No. They didn't mention any enemies, and I doubt they've been here long enough to make any," She frowned inwardly, but kept it from her face. She doubted that any of their playmates from the bar would have been involved: more than human strength did a lot of the visible damage she'd seen.

"You certain about that?" Damn, O'Brien's eyes were sharper than she thought, or her poker face needed work.

"Not unless Dean has enemies he didn't mention to me. And I'm having a hard time picturing him or Sam making one capable of doing that kind of damage in the short time he said they've been here," She shrugged.

"You reportedly crashed through a reinforced bulletproof window and then jumped out of a upper story window onto a parked car without injury on your escape from prison," O'Brien observed. Hah - he did follow national news then, she doubted that tidbit would have made any official database reports. "They know at least one person capable." Giambione gave him a curious look.

"We seem to have established that if my hotel records check, then I probably didn't do it," Faith remarked. She gave him an amused look, "Is Tom Kirkwood going to write this up as a BBQ fork incident for his column?"

"BBQ fork? What the... ?" Giambione gave her an odd look. O'Brien had no expression.

"I spent time in Sunnydale, California, detective. Some of it in the hospital, some of it not. Check news reports and police records from that town that survived the collapse: you'll find a lot of interesting terms used to describe injuries and assaults." She met O'Brien's eyes. "If we go back into that ICU ward, and I raise up the dressing on Dean's throat, will we find four puncture wounds that are spaced just about the right distance apart for long human incisors? And on Sam's?"

O'Brien's look gave her nothing. Giambione's was definitely curious as he studied her. "We could have your two friends on a weapons charge," O'Brien stated. "Would you know anything about that?"

"Nope," Faith shook her head. "What kind of weapons?"

"Pretty good variety in the trunk of their car," Giambione said, professional curiosity sharpened again. LeHane hadn't looked like she'd had any knowledge of the Winchester brother's traveling arsenal, but she hadn't looked surprised either.

"No idea. You'll have to ask them when they come around," Faith shrugged.

"If I asked if you had any firearms, what would you say?" O'Brien asked.

"I'd say that if you want to check," Faith looked at him, "We need to go off informal and you're going to need a warrant to go through my stuff to not find any."

"Why would you request a warrant if you don't have anything to be found?" Giambione gave every appearance of being amused.

"Because at that point, I'd be annoyed and interested in spreading the joy and annoying the two of you as well," Faith grinned. "Make it a home game: fun for the entire family."

"You don't like the police very much, do you?" he asked her curiously. Seeming honestly interested.

"Depends on the police, Detective Giambione. My experiences with them haven't been very good," She gave him an honest answer, and a straightforward look. "However, I kinda take 'em on an individual basis, unlike the way most police seem to take civvies. I like the two of you so far." Faith gave O'Brien a curious look, "We done yet?"

"In a hurry?" He returned in a mild tone. "Yeah yeah. For now." He gave her a card, along with her license and passport back. "If you think of anything else that could help us, give me a call at that number. Give me your cell number if you have one, hotel and room number, and if we have any more questions, I'll call and ask you to come in." She nodded, and pointed at his pen and asked for another card.

"I don't suppose I need to say this, but I will anyway," he said accepting the card and pen back. "Don't leave the city without calling me until we finish the immediate investigation and I tell you you're clear."

"Not planning to leave, Detective. I'm going to stick around until I'm sure my friends are going to be ok." Her turn to give him a hard look, "I'm as curious as you are about what happened. Be nice if you'd find out. And don't let anything else happen to them - I'd be annoyed."


	4. Chapter 4: Random Oral Exsanguinations

**Chapter 4: **_**"Another random 'oral exsanguination serial', then."**_

Detective Giambione watched her leave, along with O'Brien, then gave his partner a bemused look. "Interesting girl."

"That she is," O'Brien nodded. "What do you think of our little Miss LeHane?"

"Dangerous. Not very impressed with cops," Giambione mused. "Wrong type to be our lethal blonde, though. Not tall enough. And not dressed right."

"Oh? Wig, heels, quick change of clothes... women can change their looks pretty dramatically with a bit of work." O'Brien shrugged. "And we don't know for certain the blonde was the perp: witnesses just reported her in the area."

"Maybe. Not sure I buy it," Giambione shrugged. "Fresh tear tracks on LeHane. Doesn't look like she realized they were there, either."

"Maybe she felt real bad afterwards," O'Brien said. "We've seen that, too."

"Yeah... " Giambione gave his partner a sidelong glance, "My gut is telling me 'no'. She doesn't feel right for this."

"Maybe." O'Brien nodded again. His partner's people instincts were as good as his own, and both of them had come to trust their gut feelings on people. But both had been wrong before... "Let's go see if either of the Winchesters are awake and can shed any light on this, shall we?"

"Might as well," Giambione gave him a curious look. "Tidbits you dropped talking to LeHane: we didn't get those from my license and background check call in."

"Save it for later, in the car," O'Brien suggested, heading into the ICU unit. Giambione nodded, following him in. They found a nurse checking on the younger Winchester brother, and Giambione showed her his ID folder.

"Detective Frank Giambione, Major Crimes Unit. My partner, Detective O'Brien," he said. "Any prognosis on when either of these two might be awake and able to answer a few questions?"

The nurse, a young black woman, shook her head. "No idea, Detective. You'll have to ask a doctor for any real diagnosis." She picked up the chart and glanced at it, "I can tell you probably not real soon. Head trauma, and both brothers were extremely low on blood. They've had emergency transfusions and plasma, but I wouldn't expect either of them to be conscious until maybe late tomorrow, and possibly a day or so before either of them are coherent and stable enough to answer questions."

O'Brien nodded. "The young woman who just left here... dark hair, long leather coat? Was she with either of the two patients when you came in?"

"With that one," the nurse pointed at the older Winchester. "Standing by his bed holding his hand when I entered."

"Did she seem to be doing anything else?" Giambione asked.

"No. Well, she seemed to be talking to him, and she had tears. Since she was back in ICU, I figured her for a family member," she said. She gave the detective a curious look, "Why? Is that woman a suspect, detective?"

"No. Or, we have no reason to consider her such," O'Brien stated. "Just curious." He gave her a card, "We mentioned this to the ER doc already, but can you also make certain that photos are taken of the Winchester brother's injuries? And make sure I get a call at this number when they're available?"

"I'll add a note to their charts," she nodded. "And I'll be certain to mention it to the physician."

"Thanks," he nodded. "We'll probably get a couple of officers stationed here until morning at least, just in case one of them does become conscious long enough to give a description of their assailant. They'll check in at the ER desk when they arrive."

**...**

A long night, and not getting any shorter, she thought. Detectives O'Brien and Giambione had gone the opposite direction from her, into ICU. Presumably to see if either of the Winchester brothers were conscious and in any kind of condition to answer questions. She could have saved them the trouble, but didn't: she'd seen injuries like that on normal humans before. It wasn't likely that either brother would be fully conscious for some time. Hell... a slayer would have been unconscious for a day or two from a beating like that, and a relatively long time healing, even with their recuperative abilities.

Distracted going out, thinking back over the little interview. That was interesting in more directions than one. She hadn't been joking or lying about being a fairly active news junkie, especially lately. Nor about her impressions being that O'Brien and his major case squad came across as that rarity in the modern world: pretty good cops. It didn't take much between the lines reading to come to the realization that they also weren't well liked, if you knew how to translate 'news speak'. Of course, if Blade and King's background on their little war was accurate - and she believed it was - in a city where you could expect that probably 15 or more of the cops and ranking police and city politicians were vampire familiars, hard nosed, honest, and inquisitive cops weren't going to be liked very well. It was a wonder that O'Brien and his partner weren't dead - that spoke of very _careful_ hard nosed cops to her.

From the browsing she'd done once she decided that Philly was going to be her first stop, she'd run across O'Brien's name and his partner's more than once in new and older articles. Major cases seemed to be the ones that drew the bulk of the hard crimes: serial killers, ritual murders, assassinations, mob killings, and various strange crimes that didn't quite fit into any of the other departments. She'd have bet money that there were an awful lot of unsolved folders in that squad room stamped 'BBQ fork incident' or whatever their local equivalent was... and not closed completely. She wondered if O'Brien and his partner might prove interesting allies, and made a mental note to watch them carefully to see. Pretty sure bet they were going to be watching her - she'd love to be a fly on the wall for he and his partners conversations following their questioning of her.

Caught leaning was the expression, and she very nearly was. The vampire taint hit her in the slayer senses before she was even partly across the emergency room waiting area, and she brought her attention fully to bear on the here and now with a wrench, going suddenly relaxed and alert, slayer essence fully awake and carefully submerged below the surface.

Distracted is a bad thing for a slayer. It gets you dead.

Faith reflected later that she really hadn't expected that anything had followed the Winchester brothers here, and that she'd taken it for a more or less random attack from a vampire hunting in that area, or maybe several. Bad mistake.

There. Blonde, female, and moving up, smiling. Faith folded her arms and smiled back, waiting for her approach. Blond, very female, and wearing an ornate and expensive looking leather body suit with metal worked into the front over the chest and abdomen, possibly kevlar as well. Green eyes... and a very faintly familiar look. Ah - she looked a bit like that actress, Morgan Fair-something. Not exactly like, or really even very close, but the same sense of elegant good looks, animal sensuality, and expensive beauty. Chesty, stacked figure. Voluptuous.

Buffy would take one look at that blond and want to slit her wrists. This one made _Faith_ feel frumpy, looking at her.

This one also made Faith all too conscious that the majority of her armaments were elsewhere. There was a casual grace and a studied deadliness to the woman's movements that reminded her of Blade. Power on the hoof, and fully conscious of itself. She wanted to meet her with both Valdris blades in hand, and was all too aware of the uniformed cops and security guards around.

"Dead woman walking," Faith nodded as she came up. Deceptively relaxed and casual, and anything but relaxed inside.

"Easy, Slayer," the woman murmured as she halted in front of Faith, just a bit outside of easy striking distance. "I'm here to talk, for now, not dance."

"Rats. I've always kind of _liked_ dancing," Faith remarked. Measuring with slayer sense, not eyes, the spot where the eight inch blade from her right bracer would have the most effect if she lunged. If it struck home.

The blonde cast an amused glance around the waiting room, "It would be a pity to attract the attention of those security people with a fight. Or those uniformed officers, perhaps?" She smiled, "So many dead, for no reason."

Faith cocked her head, saying nothing. The blond continued, "I can escape and stand the scrutiny, can you? Or are they even regular police? What if they're someone's familiars?"

"Talk, vampire," Faith suggested. "You're getting perilously close to wasting time I have better uses for."

"Impatient. Both controlled and angry. Waves of power radiating off of you. Sensual," the blond ran a long slow look across her, looking Faith over like something on an auction block. "Everything it was suggested you'd be." She walked a slow circuit around Faith examining her from all angles before ending in front of her again. Faith resisted the impulse to turn her head to track her, following with slayer sense only. "It might be interesting to have a different type of dance with you, before we conclude things."

"You want the other one," Faith responded. "I don't fuck corpses. I just kill them."

"No, you're the one I want." Those green eyes devoured Faith's. Ice-green, gorgeous, and nothing human in them. Ancient eyes. "All that's under debate is exactly _what_ I want to do with you."

"Not an option you have for debate," Faith studied the blond as intently as the vampire was studying her. Not demonic, but a very faint demonic tinge. Not a 'normal' Kaineron vamp, then. Draaken? Or something else? Definite sense of evil there, casual evil, and ancient. Looks to have been embraced in her very early thirties, maybe late-late twenties, no telling her actual age.

"You have such excellent taste in men," the blond remarked. "Such marvelously tasting ones as well." She ran a tongue tip over those full lips, sensuously.

"You just riveted my total and undivided attention, vampire." Dark eyes met green, with something lazy, deadly, and far more ancient than any vampire looking out of them. "You'll find that's not a good thing to have done."

"That was the intent," came the calm reply. "I'm pleased it was successful." Faith took a short step forward, hands curling slowly into fists at her sides. Faith submerged completely then, and what came to the surface was pure predator.

"I don't play with my kills any longer, not even the things I hunt," she remarked, and was mildly surprised to hear her voice coming from a long distance away. "I can make an exception. I understand that interesting things can be done with railroad spikes and hot coals." She cocked her head, a lazy half smile on her lips, "If you have business with me, my friends aren't a part of it."

"That would be a pity. They'd make such _wonderful_ ghouls, don't you think? Or blood bounds, perhaps," the blond smirked. "Thralled and then turned, maybe." At the low growl that came out of Faith's chest, she held up a casual finger. "Now now. Remember your surroundings, Slayer. All those bystanders, and those uniforms are taking far too much of an interest in us now."

"Don't lean on that too hard," Faith suggested. "It might break." She did rein her aspect in, however, with an effort.

"It's said that a mere human once gave pause to the Scourge of Europe with a similar threat. Ironic for a vampire to use it to leash the Dark Slayer, don't you think?" The vampiress nodded, giving Faith a slow smile, "Your friends served their purpose. They brought you here to me. I have no need of them any longer." She inclined her head slightly, "My word on that, if you accept it."

"Your word."

"My word is good. I don't break it," she met Faith's eyes levelly. "You have it. I'm not interested in the Winchester brothers and they are no concern of mine." Faith nodded, not bothering with any 'and if you don't.. ' bullshit. She was already going to kill this vampire, additional threats were wasted air.

"I'm assuming there's a point here, and that you're going to get to it eventually?" Faith stated. "If not, then let us take this dance somewhere more private and finish it."

The blond laughed, "There is a point, and this is it. You've annoyed people. There was an open contract upon you, now closed: I have assumed it."

"All this, just to bring me here in the open where you could tell me that?" Faith lifted an eyebrow, "Wouldn't it have been safer for you to just kill me unaware?"

"Of course. But where's the challenge in that?" The green eyes were amused, and calculating. "Now you're aware, and you'll be watching. Wondering." She moved slowly around Faith, "Crossbow? A bullet, perhaps?" She trailed finger tips along the side of Faith's neck, warm and caressing. Warm? A vampire with body heat? "A blade in the dark? Or teeth in the night? Where will it come from, and when?" The blond's lips moved along the other side of Faith's throat, sensually, breath caressing. Pausing just over the marks that Angelus' fangs had left on her. Faith spun, hand snapping up in a back fist, stopping as the blond stepped back, laughing softly. "Death? Or will I turn you, make you one of mine? You'd make a wonderful apprentice... I wonder if the slayer essence would stay with you, or move on? So hard to tell these days, with so many of you now."

"Been tried. Didn't work out so well for them," Faith turned with the woman, now, keeping her in sight. "What makes you special, assassin?"

"No one has ever contracted a Death Dealer against you before," she stepped back. "We'll have a long dance, and an interesting one, you and I."

"Let's take this outside and discuss it," Faith suggested. "Somewhere private."

"All in good time," the blonde smirked at her, her movements predatory as she stalked around Faith. "I see you've tasted the Kiss before. Did you enjoy it, I wonder? Do you long for it again, even now?"

"Problem, LeHane?" The question came from somewhat behind her. Oh shit. Faith stepped back, turning slightly both to look with peripheral vision, and to keep herself between the blond and O'Brien. The blond, where? Gone... in the brief split seconds her full attention had been away.

"No... no problem, O'Brien," She scanned the waiting area, and the space beyond the double doors. Nothing. Neat trick, that. "Just an admirer who didn't want to take 'no' for an answer."

"You look like you've seen a ghost," the detective's eyes were curious.

"I'd prefer a ghost, I think," Faith shook her head, disgusted. Way off her game tonight. Time to catch up, fast.

"So who was your friend?" The younger one, Giambione, was doing the same thing she was, Faith noticed. Scanning the crowded ER waiting area and the parking lot beyond the exit doors, him with a slightly puzzled expression.

"No friend. And she didn't give her name." Faith shook her head, "If you need to ask me anything more, I'll be at my hotel. Or here. Good night, detectives." They didn't attempt to stop her from leaving. Interesting.

Both detectives watched her leave until she was out of the ER and across the parking lot out of sight. "You know," O'Brien said in a conversational tone, "Witnesses reported seeing an expensive looking blonde in the vicinity of the Winchester's motel room around the time of the attack."

Giambione looked over at him, "So they did. And we're not arresting the blond for questioning because?"

O'Brien gave a disgusted look and gestured around the ER. "What blond. You see a blond anywhere?"

"No... can't say that I do." Giambione went back to scanning the ER areas. "Would like to know how she managed that."

"When you figure it out, I'll make sure you get a promotion," O'Brien gave him a sour look.

"Good. Pay raise?"

"When I get one. Don't hold your breath."

"Ha. So we work for one of the most corrupt departments in the US, huh?" Giambione gave him a hurt look. "You never said."

"I think I'm insulted. We're _much_ more corrupt than Chicago or Detroit," O'Brien gave one last look around, "Come on. Let's get a couple of plainclothes watching the Winchester brothers and the ER and head back to the precinct. Maybe there's some taxpayer funded donuts left."

Frank glanced around the waiting area again. "Before we do, let's see if we can get the security camera tapes for the ER area here," he pointed at the three cameras in the vicinity. "Maybe one of them caught our blond."

"Good plan. Maybe we'll actually find one of them working at this place."

**...**

On the way back, Frank had the wheel, taking his turn to drive. He turned his head to glance at his partner, "All right, Obie. We're in the car now. LeHane's name obviously meant something to you?"

"Should have meant something to you, too, Frank." O'Brien lit a cigarette and rolled down his window a crack."Think back several years, maybe. Nationwide alert bulletin to all departments? Faith Wilkins, aka Faith Lehane, slightly different spelling?"

Giambione frowned, considering for a time. Then he nodded, "Sunnydale, California, a few years before it fell into the ground? Coma girl."

"Right." O'Brien gave him a sour look, "Almost complete absence of reports filed and police interest in her, then suddenly she wakes up and walks out of the hospital against medical advice and she's the most wanted thing since Bonnie and Clyde. Nationwide bulletins, America's Most Wanted, Federal Marshall's office, you name it."

"And shows up in LA a short time later and turns herself in to the LAPD," Frank stated, remembering. "Something about multiple murder charges."

"Yep. And escapes from prison about two years later, just about a month or so before the Sunnydale collapse," O'Brien finished for him. "During, I might add, the 'mysterious meteorological disturbance' that blacked out Los Angeles and greater So-Cal for several weeks. The one that was about as well explained by all of the 'experts' as the mysterious undiscovered sinkholes that ate Sunnydale."

"Right. I remember the bulletins now," Giambione nodded. "You got your curiosity up pretty good on all of that at the time, and then we got distracted by several cases and never finished following up on it. Slipped my mind until now."

"Lehane's escape was eclipsed by the LA blackout and fires at the time, no pun intended, so it didn't get the news attention that the earlier bulletins did. She confessed to and was incarcerated for the murder of a deputy mayor in Sunnydale, I forget his name. And a rare book dealer or professor of something - I'd have to look it up. Just before turning herself in to the LAPD, she attempted to kill a local private investigator and one of his partners, supposedly. There seemed to be some ambiguity about those - both of the victims involved testified on her behalf at her trial." O'Brien said, "Then she showed up again, briefly, after her escape in a couple of news photos among the last bus load of evacuees from the Sunnydale collapse. Just before turning herself in again in LA."

"Pretty odd escape, if I recall, wasn't it?" Frank gave O'Brien a curious look. "You seem to have mentioned something on that in the hallway there."

O'Brien nodded, "Crashed through a reinforced bullet resistant window in the visitors room while being visited by a Wesley Wyndham Price, one of her earlier victims. Then jumped out of an upper floor window of the penal institute - reportedly carrying Price - landing on the roof of a car and getting away in another vehicle."

"Ow. Upper floor?" Giambione winced. "And ran off afterwards... apparently unharmed. Ok, I can see that that and her history would seem to make her a candidate for the assault on the Winchesters."

"Three to four story drop - super hero stuff," O'Brien said with a sour look. "We'll check and see if the Marriott records back up her whereabouts," O'Brien said. "But I'm not buying her for it any more than you are, possibly for different reasons. I'm not sure how Lehane fits into this yet, but I like our mysterious vanishing blond better."

"Your reasons?" Giambione glanced at him.

Shrug, "Like I said: it got my curiosity up. Kate Locksley was reportedly a pretty good cop before she was permanently suspended - read fired - from the LAPD. She dug into Lehane's background after the trial and found a lot of oddities in the Sunnydale background, enough to cause her to testify on Lehane's behalf at the rehearings. The consulting psychologist the prison called in for her had some interesting opinions also."

"So Locksley's and the shrinks character reference was enough for you?"

"That and other things," O'Brien took a drag off of his smoke. "Someone tried to have Lehane assassinated in prison the same day she escaped. Went through a lot of trouble for it: smuggled in a ritual dagger of all things, and paid an inmate to go after her in the yard. I managed to track down one of the guards who evidently became friends with Lehane while she was in... according to him, she was as close to a model prisoner as they had. Serious about making good on what she did and rehabilitating herself." He shrugged, "An awful lot of people who've seen every scam that a con can come up with seemed to think that Lehane got a raw deal and that there was something worth salvaging there. People who wouldn't normally stick their necks out for a convicted murderer and supposed psycho."

"What was Locksley fired for?" Giambione asked, curiously.

"Looking too closely into cases involving people with allergies to sunlight and bodies with odd wounds on their necks," O'Brien said, sourly. "Among other things."

"Ah," Giambione nodded with kind of a 'say no more' sour expression of his own.

"Yeah," O'Brien stated. "We need more background on our victims, and we need to figure out how Lehane fits in with them here."

Later in the squad room, O'Brien and his partner gathered around the video equipment with the other four members of their squad to review the ER security tapes. The six of them had already gone over the facts of the case, as well as LeHane background from both the FBI database and police records searches, plus O'Brien's personal files filled with the information he'd gleaned during his earlier interest in the young woman of a couple of years back.

"Ok," O'Brien said. "We're still waiting on a full background to come up on the Winchester brothers. So far on basic records check, they have limited criminal history - none really of any major note. Mother dead under mysterious circumstances, father disappeared, fiancée of the younger Winchester brother also murdered later. The _father_ might be more interesting if we had him around."

"Unfortunately," Detective Carson observed, "He seems to have vanished off of the face of the earth."

"Right," O'Brien nodded. "Sam and Dean Winchester seem to be relatively clean so far. No major police interest in them, no real suspicion of involvement in the fiancee's death. We'll have to wait until they achieve consciousness to ask them what they're doing in Philly, unfortunately - our perp did a serious number on them." He paused, "Few times they do come up in police contact, they come up in places that have had various odd or bizarre events or crimes. So far, no indication they've been held or questioned in connection with any of them." O'Brien read off a short list of incidents, then motioned for Giambione to start the tapes.

"A pity they don't have audio pickups on these," Detective Stephanie Brody said. "Be nice to know what they're saying to each other."

"Keep telling you you should get the department to send you to lip reading classes, Stevie," Frank wisecracked.

"Ha. You a funny guy, Jambone," Stevie shot him the finger. "Your dark haired girl looks definitely hostile towards the blonde, going by her stance and body language."

"Not a bad idea at that, though," O'Brien remarked. "Department does have lip readers - get one to take a look at this. It'd be nice to know what's being said." Stevie nodded.

When the security tape reached the point where O'Brien and Giambione entered the scene and called out to LeHane, Detective Burns blinked, "Whoa. Where'd blondie go?" According to the camera, when LeHane stepped back and turned partway to O'Brien, drawing his and Frank's eyes, the blonde apparently vanished.

"Good question - you win the prize," O'Brien said, nodding. "That was mine and Frank's, and apparently LeHane question as well. Let's run the other two tapes and see if the different camera angles show us anything."

The other tapes seemed to show the same thing, from different views. On the third tape, Detective Christine Meadows leaned forward, frowning. She put out a finger towards the television screen.

"Something, Christine?" O'Brien gave her a sharp look. Always a good observer, Christine's ability to pick up on small details seemed to have sharpened the last several months or so. She had a tendency to catch things the other members of the squad often missed.

"Maybe," the blonde detective said. "Back that up again to just before the blonde vanishes, then run it." Giambione nodded and reversed the playback, then hit 'Play' again, running it forward. Christine leaned forward intently as the rest of the squad watched, following the blonde with a fingernail as the sequence ran through again.

"Hrmmm... " She said. "Let me see the remote, Frank?" He tossed it to her and she reversed the tape again and ran it, then once more, pausing it at the start of the sequence. "Ok, here's where you and Obie enter the ER waiting area again from the hallway while the blonde is circling LeHane, and then LeHane turns toward her. The first tape shows the same, but in this one you can be seen calling something out that gets both women's attention." She advanced the tape a bit, then paused it again. "LeHane takes a long step back, away from the blonde and towards you and Frank, apparently when she hears your voice. Turns her head slightly in your direction." She traced with her fingertip, then advanced the tape again, "And here, just before the blonde vanishes, this big EMT passes the two of them and crosses apparently between the blonde and both your and Frank's field of view and LeHane, for only a few seconds." She paused the tape again, indicating the large, black emergency paramedic she was discussing. "At that point, you can see the blonde woman appear to start to take a long step to one side in the direction the EMT crosses from, and then she vanishes."

"Into thin air, baby." Burns said, nodding. "Like the EMT rolled her up and put her into his pocket."

"Maybe not," Christine said, frowning in concentration. "Let me run this back, and I'll see if I can do a frame by frame step through from that point."

She rewound the tape again and then stepped through it one frame at a time from just before the EMT walked across. On frame by frame, the blonde woman stepped across behind the EMT so that he was between her and LeHane, O'Brien and Giambione's field of view, and continued to walk or jog one frame at a time across the emergency room waiting area and out the door just as a couple walked in through the automatic doors, finally vanishing off screen to the left outside of the inside camera's view. She rewound it again and then played it forward at one quarter speed and after the step across, the blonde turned into a blur trail going across and out the doors.

"What the hell... ?" Detective Carson and Stevie said, both almost together.

"She doesn't 'disappear', she just moves very fast after she leaves your field of view briefly," Christine said. "Ok... that doesn't help, does it? It's still pretty damned impossible." She rewound the tape again. "Let's try this from a different perspective from one of the other tapes... "

The other two cameras showed the same thing on frame by frame and quarter speed, except with both of them losing the blonde from the field of view before she went out the doors. Only the camera three tape showed her exiting the ER waiting area.

"Man oh man," Burns said. "What are we dealing with here?" The huge, black detective had a faintly shocked look.

"One of the first times we've actually seen one of our 'exsanguination killers' caught live and on film?" O'Brien observed with a sardonic expression. The other detectives in the squad had decidedly disturbed expressions, with the exception of Giambione who's face was studiously blank, and Christine who was watching the slow motion replay with fascination. "You caught that visually on the first run through, Christine?"

She shot O'Brien a startled look, "I caught... _something_ on that third tape. Not certain what." Christine shook her head, puzzled. "A flicker near the doors, and just behind the EMT, I think."

"Good catch," was all O'Brien responded with. He exchanged a curious glance with Giambione. Another oddity to the puzzle the squad's second female detective was presenting them over the last several months.

"Here's another," Stevie said. "Ignore the blonde and watch LeHane from this angle. Note her action and movements." She motioned Christine to run the end of the tape again and they watched as it ran through.

"Moving to shield the blonde from Frank and Obie?" Carson frowned.

"No," Christine shook her head and rewound it. "Watch the body language and stance - I see what caught Stevie's eye." She glanced at Giambione, "Watch it from a martial artist's perspective, Frank." She hit forward again at half speed.

He frowned, concentrating on it, then nodded. "Not shielding the blonde - shielding us. Head turns to spot our location after Obie calls out, but keep the blonde in peripheral vision. Moves to put herself between the blonde and us, weight shifts into a modified 'ready' stance, and arms move slightly to a defensive posture. She was cocked forward somewhat belligerently before that. The EMT stepping over breaks her field of view and she loses the blonde momentarily and whips her head around to try and relocate her... "

"But the blonde is already moving beyond visual speed," Colby Burns finished for him, nodding his head.

"Beyond our visual speed," Carson stated. "Is it beyond hers?" He was obviously remembering some of the background O'Brien had provided before the tape viewing.

"Another good question," O'Brien nodded. "Maybe not completely beyond... but she did lose sight of our blonde lady: she was scanning the room and the crowd along with Frank and myself as we moved up to her."

"Again: what the hell are we dealing with here?" Colby asked.

"Don't know, Colby. But this may be one of the better chances we've had to find out since we started encountering these cases," O'Brien said.

"If finding out doesn't kill us," Detective Burns shook his head. There were several nods of agreement around the room, including O'Brien. "Moving like that, I can see how that frail took out two healthy young white boys by walking all over them. They probably never knew what hit them before they were out cold."

"Yeah... " O'Brien shook his head also. "Christine: can you pull off several decent images of our blonde friend from those? And make duplicate copies of those security tapes?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I can transfer them to digital for manipulation and enhancement as well, if we need to. I'll pull out several of the best stills afterwards, clean them up, and get them ready to print out."

"Good," he said. "Get copies of them distributed to patrol and traffic divisions, with an 'Observe and report: do not attempt to detain' advisory. We don't want some poor uniform trying to arrest her not knowing what they're dealing with and ending up in the hospital themselves, or dead." He considered a moment, then, "Get copies to Carson and Colby as well: the two of you can show them around when you finishing the follow up canvassing of the motel and vicinity. Maybe it'll jog some memories."

"You want Christine and I to join in the follow ups?" Stevie asked. "We still have that open serial rapist investigation going."

"No... stick with that for right now. Work on this as needed where it doesn't interfere," O'Brien said. "That one needs to be closed out ASAP." He looked around the squad room, "That goes for everyone: work your normal case load - we don't need to draw too much attention to this one, just in case anyone's paying attention that shouldn't be. We'll fit this in around active cases, except for myself and Frank." The others shrugged or nodded; there weren't any objections. All of them were used to running multiple cases by this point, with the exception of the occasional high profile murder or serial killer that drew everyone's undivided attentions.

"All right, then," he stood up. "Any new developments on this we'll kick around as shop talk later," O'Brien finished - current Major Cases code for 'discuss it away from the office after hours, usual place'. Away from any prying ears who might have objections to too much attention paid to any of the odder goings on around Philly. "I'll fill in Hogan on what we've got."

**...**

"So, Obie, what do you think?" Lieutenant Paul Hogan gave his senior detective a curious look.

O'Brien took a sip of his beer and leaned back, giving the question serious consideration. "I think this was a lot simpler back when we just had serial killers, multiple rapists, and mob shootings to deal with."

"Ah, the good old days," Tom Kirkwood raised his glass of milk and clinked it against O'Brien's beer. "A toast to those, we'll never see their like again." There was a round of 'here, here!''s from around the table.

Hogan snorted, shaking his head. O'Brien gave his oldest friend an amused look. 'Lieutenant' Paul Hogan. After this number of years, and close to retirement age, it should be 'Captain' Hogan, or maybe Deputy Commissioner Hogan even. And O'Brien should have a Lieutenant or even a Captain in front of his name. Major Case Squad was kind of the sinkhole for careers in the Philadelphia Police Department, these days. Not withstanding the highest cleared case ratio in the department, and the lowest incidence of unclosed files. Or formerly, anyway. That stack had gotten thicker in the last five to ten years. About the time that it became clear that solving certain types of cases wasn't encouraged, and that inquisitive and hard nosed cops looking into certain parts of the cities underworld were frowned upon.

Not 'officially', of course. There wasn't anything 'Official' about it. Officially, you got a pat on the back and a commendation, and maybe if the case was high profile enough, an award from the mayor's office and a nice speech. Good doggie.

Unofficially... cops who didn't learn fast to look the other way from certain types of murders or assaults, and what type of details to either leave out of official paperwork or cover with polite euphemisms, found themselves quietly assigned to some of the more dismal parts of Philly. On night shift. Without a partner. Or found promotion opportunities quietly dead ending, no matter how high you scored on tests and interdepartmental aptitudes. Your patrons in the department started finding excuses to not have lunch with you, then began not returning your calls. Good doggie. Slap on the nose with a rolled up newspaper.

Major Cases was a bit too high profile for a lot of that, and Hogan was far too good a political infighter. Attempts to disband or break up Major Cases met with a distinct lack of success, or were quietly quashed, often with invisible assistance from higher up the food chains. The Mayor's office found their record handy to be able to point to in election years, or at times when the polls were trending down. But you didn't want to publicly solve too many of the wrong cases, and getting assigned to Major Case Squad was a lateral promotion, and an indication that your career wasn't going anywhere fast.

O'Brien felt bad only for the two younger detectives, Christine Meadows and Stevie Brody. He, Hogan, and Giambione had figured out the score long ago, and had decided for themselves that the game sucked, but it was the only one in town. So had Detectives Carson and Burns, for their own reasons.

Kirkwood excused himself to get up and get another milk from the bar tap, and took the beer pitcher with him to top it off for the table's drinkers. Other departments had squad rooms and briefing rooms. Major Cases had a private room at the back of Nicole's bar, Rimbault's, downtown, after hours once she closed up for the night. Better ambiance than the station's briefing room, and more secure. O'Brien had a friend - one not connected with the force - who swept it regularly for bugs and who'd installed jammers for them to prevent eavesdropping by any that made it in between sweeps. Official meetings happened in the squad briefing room. The meetings where the real work got done on odd cases happened here.

Shrug, "I think it's safe to say that this is another one of _those_ cases," O'Brien answered Hogan's question from a bit before, finally.

Kirkwood set the now full pitcher in the center of the table, and pulled his chair back out. "You mean I get to find new ways to type 'bizarre and unsolvable but not recurring' for my column again?"

"Unless you can figure out a good way to work in 'Unexplained BBQ Fork assault' instead," Giambione smirked. They had the back room to themselves tonight, just the four of them. Christine and Stevie were back out doing footwork on the serial rapist thing, and Carson and Burns were helping watch the ICU ward at the hospital until morning.

"BBQ fork?"

"Sunnydale, California," O'Brien supplied. "They evidently had an epidemic of those before it collapsed into an unexplained sinkhole. Years and years of epidemic."

"What our profilers call an 'oral exsanguination serial'," Hogan said. Tom Kirkwood nodded. One of the 'don't look too closely at the details and don't _report_ them, for gods sakes' types of cases. The Philly Eagle had its own dead end beats for too inquisitive reporters.

"When the Eagle finally collapses under its own dead tree weight," he remarked, "leaving us a one failing paper town, I think I'll move to the internet where I can actually report on all of the stuff we investigate."

"And be just another inter-nut with all the other web wackos?" Hogan laughed.

"Hey - Lileks makes a living at it. It can't pay any worse than my few column inches." Kirkwood shot back, laughing.

"So... you don't think this LeHane woman beat up the Winchesters, then." Hogan asked. "Too bad - it'd make for an easy solve that the department would like."

"No, I don't think they would, really. We'd both be out on forced retirement after her attorneys finished with them," O'Brien said. "Or didn't you take a good look at that part of her jacket?"

"I must've missed that, Kevin. What did I miss?" Hogan frowned.

"Wolfram and Hart. Very high powered. Same firm that was responsible for getting her a rehearing after Sunnydale and her convictions cleared." O'Brien laughed, "She'd end up owning the department by the time they finished with it."

Giambione snorted, "That might almost make it worthwhile."

"Except that her hotel records confirm that she was in her room buying movies and surfing the internet during the time frame when the Winchesters were attacked. And her calls to Dean's cell phone occurred while she was doing so. Her reasons for being in Philly check out so far, also." O'Brien shook his head, "Besides, we don't do that. She may not be lily pure, but the evidence and my gut says she's not guilty on this."

"Gullible, too. She thinks you're one of the good guys," Giambione winked at Kirkwood.

"I am one of the good guys," O'Brien said mildly. "Just because my white hat's at the cleaners today... " He shook his head, and looked at Hogan, "No. Ask me two-three years ago, and I'd have looked at her jacket and said 'Let's round her up'. Now... ?" He frowned, "Real bad guys don't turn themselves in twice. And they don't have their arresting officer volunteer to testify on their behalf at their rehearing. I'll give the benefit of the doubt, for now."

"Ex-cop arresting officer," Hogan objected, just to see what would come back.

"Ex-cop who was put on permanent suspension by the LAPD for looking too close at the kind of cases that get detectives assigned to permanent night shift in bad neighborhoods here. Or that's what comes up if you read between the lines," Giambione said. "And I seem to recall that LeHane escaped from prison during the 'freak meteorological disturbance' over Southern California... the one that ended abruptly soon after she escaped - escaped with the help of one of her former victims, yet."

"Yeah... " O'Brien didn't mention the police jacket that ended abruptly in a classified, blacked out file. He didn't need to: Hogan had already seen it. "She knew about the apparent bite marks on the Winchester brothers. And the nurse we spoke to said that there was no indication that the dressings on their necks had been disturbed, nor disturbed and replaced even if LeHane had the professional training and a medical kit on her somewhere. She had plenty of time to harm them before we got there, and the nurse said that when she arrived she was merely standing there holding Dean Winchester's hand and looking down at him."

"And she had tear tracks on her face when Obie and I caught up to her outside," Giambione frowned, "I don't think she was even aware of it."

"The two Winchester brothers are equally interesting. Mother murdered and home burned down, a fiance murdered, father disappeared under mysterious circumstances after their mother's death. Handful of police encounters they've been involved in have LeHane's BBQ fork incident stamp all over them." O'Brien stated, "However... getting beaten almost to death in Philly isn't a crime."

"Send a memo to Homeland Security," Kirkwood suggested. "It will be in six months."

"Punishable by covert extradition to a non-existent penal facility in Turkey, no doubt." Giambione made a sour face. O'Brien snickered and gave him a sympathetic look. DHS wasn't highly thought of in Major Cases.

"Yeah. Isn't illegal to get beaten to death in Philly, but it is illegal to have a trunk full of weapons, some of them illicit," O'Brien said. "Gives us maybe more than a bit of leverage to get them to loosen up a bit if they clam up when they're conscious again. Either way... they're material witnesses to their own assault. No evidence they were involved in any criminal activity, apart from the guns."

"As long as we can keep that from making it a BATFE case," Carson said. "BATFE will yank jurisdiction out from under us and in about three days, they'll be doing a massive press conference with Homeland Security talking about the two 'dangerous Right-wing militia terrorists' they nabbed."

Hogan nodded, pursing his lips, then taking a sip of his beer. "Another random 'oral exsanguination serial', then."

"And one that probably gets round filed, officially," O'Brien nodded. "But one that we're going to solve anyway, if possible, no matter _what_ we put into the official blotter."

"How do you plan to handle it?" Hogan asked.

"Now you _would_ have to go and ask a hard one... " O'Brien scowled and poured himself another beer.

"It's why I'm a Lieutenant, and you're only a lowly Detective. I get paid an exorbitant salary to ask the hard questions," Hogan replied, sourly, and everyone at the table laughed.

"Hrrm. I like our mysterious fast and vanishing blond for this, and she seems to have a hard on for LeHane," O'Brien said after a time. "I think we stand carefully out of the way, and figure out ways to give LeHane an 'unofficial' hand if needed. Try and keep an eye on the Winchester brothers and make sure they don't finish getting exsanguinated and need a sudden quiet cremation. And watch, a lot."

"And if your and my gut instincts turn out to be bogus and she is wrong?" Frank Giambione raised an eyebrow at him.

Shrug, "Then we land on LeHane with both feet and hope she doesn't kill us or anyone else in the squad before we can take her down." He looked at his partner, "That being the simple part, that's your job."

"Ah," Frank laughed. "I think I'm ready to move up to the harder jobs now. Leaving you the simple ones, old timer." His partner smirked back.

"All right," Hogan levered himself to his feet. "Time to call it a night - I'm getting too old for this late night shit." Frank and O'Brien nodded, getting up themselves and stretching.

"You guys go on," Kirkwood said. "I'll clean up and close up so Nikki doesn't bitch at us. It'll give me time to figure out what to write about before I have to turn my column inches in."

"Million stories in the naked city, Tom. Shouldn't be that hard," Giambione grinned.

"We'll trade jobs and you can try it sometime."

"LeHane's a fan," O'Brien observed as he was shrugging on his coat. "Maybe she'll give you an interview if you ask real nice."


	5. Chapter 5: Practical like stuff

**Chapter 5: **_**"Practical like stuff... "**_

Her first impulse was to head back to the area of the Winchester's motel and start prowling. Dust or ash any licks she found, interrogating them first if possible. Get a list of local demon bars and trash them, showing the flag.

_'No. She wanted to shake you up, girl, get you rattled and even more off your game. It worked,'_ she thought to herself. _'You're as rattled right now as you've been since you came apart on Angel way back when. The Usual is what she expects you to do now - make yourself an easy target.'_ Don't do it... _never_ play the other guy's game. Kick over the table and deal your own.

She'd checked the bike over before leaving the hospital. Nothing that didn't look like it belonged there, no extra wires, and no hidden tracking devices she could see. Not that that meant much these days... they could make bugs nearly invisible, she understood, and if someone had the right equipment, they could track you by your cell phone as long as the battery was in. Bike didn't blow up, which was a plus - it was always good not to detonate - and she decided after giving it some thought that she wasn't going to worry about it.

Having Blondie self-called Deathdealer be able to track her wasn't necessarily a negative. Meant that if she was, she was close by where Faith could put hand to her as soon as she figured out the best way to deal with the bitch.

That little issue was a point of concern at the moment. She'd never heard of a vampire with body heat, and the gorgeous blond had definitely registered as a vamp to her slayer sense. Of some kind. There were obviously gaps in her knowledge, and that was a problem.

That which you don't know, kills you.

Also no sign that anyone had been at her rooms. No one more than the maid service, anyway: the beds were made up and bedding replaced. Nothing else disturbed. She opened one of the hidden compartments to her chest and took out several charms Willow had made that would close off a space, even a normally transient one such as a hotel room, and make it so that any supernatural entity below a certain power level would require an invitation to enter. In theory anyway... One shot usage, and there were only a limited number of them. Once activated, they were tied to the space until they were removed and became inactive.

Not all vampires required an invitation to enter, she'd discovered recently, but that wouldn't matter: with the room warded, even they would. In theory. And of course there is no difference between theory and practice, except in practice. She laughed and put them up on the door and windows, anyway.

It probably wouldn't do much against a vampire Familiar, but that didn't bother her. Even a slightly enhanced human wasn't going to worry her much. Not unless they came in numbers, trained, and heavily armed. And if they were that serious about it, she was screwed anyway.

No... Blondie, she suspected, had a different game afoot. Figuring out what game was the rub. Then turning it on her.

She looked at the room's clock and realized the hour for the first time. Too late to call Wesley, even if he wouldn't mind being woken up at almost 1am, her vague questions would keep until tomorrow. And if he was up and working... he needed to be concentrating on whatever business he was about, not getting killed because she'd split his attention. That left... ah. She flipped open her cell and worked through her contacts until she found the one she wanted.

"Perditions." Not the big bartender's voice. Must be his night off.

"Is the Thug in?"

"Ha. Only one person calls him that. Hang on." She held for a bit, fixing herself something to drink while she waited.

"Slayer." Vince's voice was cheerful. "Not even out of my town a week and already calling. Must be true love, at last."

"Yup. Been pining away for your scaly self. How'd you guess?" She laughed.

"Babe magnet. They just can't keep away," Vince chuckled. "So, what can I do you for? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," she paused for a moment. "Who do you know that would have an open contract out on me?"

"Huh. Who wouldn't? You bent an awful lot of people here, Slayer." He paused, thinking. "But this fast? No one knows where you are right now, unless you've gotten careless."

"Not that careless. I didn't leave a forwarding address." Faith frowned... that was something that had been bothering her.

"Hrrm. Let me think," She did, and waited for a time. "There were noises, all carefully quashed in the right places. You have a patron that it's not considered wise to piss off right now. I don't think even the Hellfire Club wants to get Wolfram and Hart's negative attention. Besides... they're not real unhappy with the world not ending, if you get my drift. It'd interfere with their plans for world domination and all that."

"Yeah. Bad for business and all that."

He snickered, "Yup. Only one I can think of is the old one WH themselves had out, and the one the Watcher's Council had before Jasmine."

"Both of those are closed, far as I know. Angel closed one, and the First closed the old Watcher's Council out. Permanently."

"So I heard," he snickered. "May they rest in peace. Why... what has you asking, kiddo?"

"Had an encounter with a lady vamp that said she'd picked up the open one on me. Calls herself a Death Dealer, or some such."

"Holy shit, Slayer. You're moving in rarified circles," he whistled softly. "Do me a favor and avoid my bar until you get this settled, eh?"

"Gee, thanks, Thug. Your concern is overwhelming." He laughed and she added, "What can you tell me?"

"Not much, kiddo. Supposedly heavy hitters within the vampire courts and councils. They _usually_ deal with internal matters: settling blood feuds or icing rogue clan lords etcetera." He paused, "I've never met one or heard of anyone who has, and I'd rather keep it that way."

"Yeah. I'll try not to adopt her and bring her home for Christmas," her voice was dry. "Nose around quietly and see if you come across whoever put a price on me?"

"No worries. Would have anyway - bad for business having people think they can ice my friends." He said something she didn't quite catch to someone off the phone, "Watch your ass, kiddo. Don't die. You owe me another walk on the side o' the angels some day."

"No worries, Thug. I'm not that easy to kill." She clicked off and sat there staring through the wall for a time, finishing her drink. Finally, she loaded up the big Keith single action with sun-dog rounds, laid it and her sword in easy reach, then gave it up and went to bed.

**...**

(Day 3; _Sunday, December 7, 2003_)

"Yo, Watcher man?" She'd woken up late, better rested, and in a much better mood. Less rattled. Much better time to attempt the time differential between East and West coasts. And no slayer dream hints from the Powers That Be. Time to explore other resources.

"Faith!" Wesley Price swiveled his chair away from the computer screen he'd been engrossed in, and leaned back stretching. He glanced at the clock. "Still morning here, rather than 4am. There must be an Apocalypse."

"Ha. Very funny," she laughed. "I just woke up and got enough coffee in me to be conscious Still settled into the Marriott for the time being."

"Ah. Still on the East Coast then?"

"Philly, yup."

"Ah. Glad you called. I've been doing some digging around," He frowned, pausing. "Well, glad isn't the right word, exactly, as everything I have so far is negative, but... "

"No worries. And I know what you meant: glad I called, sorry you haven't found anything yet."

"Quite." He gave an apologetic ahem. "Not all medical facilities include photos with their accessible staff bios. And very few in medical school student lists. Of course... there's a lot of medical schools and training facilities for paramedics and similar, so that will take a long time to go through them all."

"Figured it wouldn't be that easy." Pause, "Thanks for trying, Wes."

"I'm not done yet, Faith. Barely started." He stated. "There's always high school and college yearbooks as well." The 'thanks' registered, "Ah... you're welcome."

"Heh. And the quick mind catches up to the funny conversation sounds on the other end of the phone after a time." She snickered.

"Ha. Quite," he gave a soft laugh.

"S'cool. Just started, and you have regular stuff to do too." She went on before he could speak, "I had a couple of questions on something different, anyway."

"Oh? Shoot."

"Ok... first off: what can you tell me, if anything, about a disembodied demon that apparently possesses people and kills them after using their bodies? Possibly may form attachments to particular families."

"Hrrm. Doesn't sound familiar. I'd have to do research," He paused, "Is this a curiosity question, or have you encountered such a thing?"

"You might say that," her voice was dry. She related the experience with the Winchester demon, leaving out the identities of the Winchester brothers and any non-pertinent details like that.

"Good lord, Faith." Wesley's voice sounded appalled. "And you say that you managed to evict it from possessing you somehow?"

"Yes. No. Ummm... more like 'the slayer essence in me took violent exception to being possessed', if that makes sense." Faith frowned, "Admittedly, I didn't have much Watcherness, but I was never told that being a slayer made one immune to possessions?"

"No. Or... rather, if it does, I wasn't aware of it either. However," he paused, probably thinking.

"However?"

"It has been documented that slayers are resistant to turning by normal demonic vampires. At least, original line slayers such as yourself and Summers - I have no idea if that extends to the newly Awakened." He paused to consider, "It is possible that that has to do with the slayer essence being similar to a possession. It may resist the addition of another occupant, as it were."

"Hrrmm... not sure if that scans, but it's a better theory than I have," Faith said.

"Doesn't scan?"

"It's hard to explain... " She paused, searching for terms she didn't quite have. "It doesn't feel like a 'possession' to me, and I'm on the inside with it. We don't swap places when the slayer part comes up to play, it's more like another... " she made a gesture she knew was wasted on the phone, "another aspect of me gets stronger. Always there, though."

"Indeed," Wesley's voice was curious. "I have to admit, I've never actually discussed the slayer essence experience with a slayer. And the majority of the entries in the Watcher's Journals deal with more practical aspects of the thing."

"Such as how to get the most mileage out of one before the shelf life runs out on us?" Her voice was sour.

"Quite. I do have to recall that you haven't had the best of experiences with the Old Watcher's Council."

"And the new Council doesn't have a great deal of experience with anything, yet." Faith laughed.

"Quite. I'll have to look into this for you, as I can," She could hear him making notes on the other end, "I do have to say that, despite the Exorcist movies and the Church's mythology, possession type demonic essences are actually rather rare, apparently. The majority of demons manifest physically on this plane."

"Hence the usual reliance on 'Beat, rend, kill' in Slayer Training?" Faith laughed.

"Ha. Yes." Wesley laughed softly, "I'll look into both things for you."

"Cool, thanks. Brings me to the next thing... " She paused to gather her thoughts, "Why is it that I was never told anything about other vampire breeds until recently? I mean, yeah, demons are heavily involved, but the job title is 'Vampire Slayer', an' all." She went on, "You'd think that would be important? But until I watched those licks burst into flaming ash and ran into Blade, that was the first I'd heard of it."

"Oh? That is odd... " He frowned, gathering his thoughts back from the unrelated subject he'd been immersed in. "Hrmm..."

She was quiet on the other end, although he could hear breathing. Letting him sort thoughts and pull up information from his memory, as she'd done before after asking his assistance in Jersey. Surprised him, honestly... this was never a type of conversation or relationship he'd expected to have with Faith. Not going by their previous history of interactions.

He wasn't surprised to find it pleasing to him. He was rather surprised that he was pleased to find himself falling back into the once familiar role of Watcher, and to a slayer yet... something he'd once prepared for but never had actually had much real opportunity to do in practice.

"I'm not certain, Faith," he said after a time. "I wasn't intended to be a field watcher, originally, and was far from prepared for the role when I was sent to Sunnydale to 'take over' from Giles. However, it is my understanding and recollection that my training was no different from that of any field watchers, and we certainly learned about all of the known breeds and varieties of vampire. Professional knowledge base, one could say."

"Would Giles' background have been any different? I didn't gather that B knew about anything except 'normal' dust-in-the-wind vamps." She paused, "If she did, she didn't say anything. Not that we had a lot of... professional talks that didn't involve hitting and pointy objects."

"Ha. Quite." He thought for a moment. "No, Giles' background and preparation and training would have been similar to mine, plus the advantage of years of field research. He would certainly have known. So should your original watcher, since Draaken breed are more common on the East coastal areas."

"She didn't have much time to go into very much depth," Faith voice was rather grim sounding.

"Ah. Yes. And you were dealing with Kakistos at the time, who was of Kaineron childer lineage." He nodded on his end, "Get the important items out while there's time."

"Yeah... " Her voice sounded thoughtful. "Hannibal suggested that watchers may not have wanted to complicate things for girls who weren't going to live long enough to use it."

That brought a long silence from him. Finally, "I wish that I could say that there weren't members of the old council who did think that way, Faith."

"Yah. Expendable resource. Two year shelf life. Aim, shoot, discard." She laughed and it was bitter. Her experiences with the Council had been particularly bad, and he grimaced at the memory. "Kind of the LAW rocket of the supernatural world."

"Giles certainly didn't think of his charges that way, Faith. Nor did Merrick, Buffy's first Watcher, from what I've read of him." Wesley said gently, "And from what you've described, neither did yours."

"Maybe." She sounded unconvinced, and not for the first time, he wished he could dig his father up, resurrect him, and strangle the bastard, as well as going back in time to slap his younger self unconcious... "So. Precisely to change the subject," her mimicry of his accent wasn't perfect but was decent enough to jerk a startled laugh out of him, "What are all of the various breeds, and how do I recognize them? Professional interest and all - since I'm going to be traveling a lot and don't exactly have a Watcher at hand all the time."

"Yes, quite. Give me a few minutes to think, please."

She laughed, "And we all know you're rusty. Should I call Fred if I smell smoke?"

"Ha bloody ha." She snickered. At least it was better than the bitter sound from a moment before.

"All right. Right then," he said after a time. "You know about what we shall call 'normal' vampires and their features and lineages, the Master, Aurelius and all. Tell me what you do know about the Childer of Drake?"

She did, and then he said. "Quite. Not complete, but it seems that Blade and Hannibal gave you quite a bit of the basics. I hadn't known about the Blood Pack and the hybrids before, nor about Dagon being dug up and raised." He paused... "We were rather distracted at the time, however."

"Rather." Faith said, dryly, and he laughed.

"Very well," he continued. "There are a number of vampiric entity types that get lumped into the overall category of 'Vampire'. However, the majority of them are demons of various kinds, or spirits, and extremely rare. A few to every culture it seems: African mythos', South America, Native American... As far as relatively common breeds that you are likely to encounter, which I gather is your main question?"

"Quite." She paused, "Although knowing about the rare ones couldn't hurt. What you don't know, kills you."

"Yes. Quite right." He cleared his throat, and took the phone with him to get a fresh cup of coffee. "There are three major breeds in North America and Europe that we are aware of, all from different Primogens as Blade called them. Two of them you know of now. There are also Oriental breeds, however they seem to stay almost exlusively to China, the Philippines, Japan, and Malaysia... unless you intend to travel far, they'll be extremely rare here. Possible to encounter one in one of the Chinatowns or Japanese communities."

"Not planning to head for the exotic Far East just yet," she laughed. "Although I would like to see Tokyo some day. I'll let the orient slayers worry about those, mostly. The third?"

"Childer of Lillitha and Kane."

"Lilith.. first demon?" She paused. "And Kane... Kaineron?"

"Ah, yes, and no. Kane: ancient, ancient mage and warrior, human once, but cursed. Not the same as the Kaineron of the Aurelius lineage. You sound somewhat familiar with Lilith."

"Not really familiar. Just bits and pieces of the legendry."

"Quite. Lilith was very near to an Old One, not precisely a demon. She became worked into the Eden myths and Genesis when they were adapted by the ancient Hebrews from the Babylonian and Sumerian mythos, but she actually predates all three by eons," he paused, taking a gulp of coffee. "Some of the earliest legends hold that she was an Old One who took human form. Others that she was a creation of the Old Ones as they were fading from this world. Doubtful that anyone knows for certain. What little is known is that she was powerful, supposedly had a thirst for life essences, and could become both human and extremely beautiful and seductive. She may have inspired a number of the seductress gods of various pantheons - or created them."

"And Kane-not-Kaineron?" she prompted.

"Kane was a human king and warrior-mage from the extremely distant past. Think Pangaea: the ubercontinent that predates continental drift and the splitting of the continents into the shapes they take now. Pangaea, Atlantis and Lemuria. He was cursed to become immortal and restless by the gods of his time, for reasons that unfortunately haven't survived. Although there are myths... He is possibly the inspiration for the Cain story in Genesis, and similar legends in other pantheons. He wandered the earth for ages, the death dealer, and became deeply immersed into the black arts, supposedly in attempts to break the curse upon him. Very powerful... he evidently did not survive the sundering of the continents and the destruction of the civilizations of his time, so probably not completely immortal."

He paused for a bit, and she could hear coffee pouring sounds again, and a sound as though of books being pulled from a shelf.

"He and Lilith had a dalliance, and supposedly became lovers. There were children born of that union, eventually, and at least one inherited Lilith's blood lust and Kane's immortality, powers, and affinity for the arts. And possibly Kane's curse... He also possessed the ability to infuse his essence into those that he killed, raising them to become somewhat like himself. Similar to a Kaineron vampire, but not demon ridden."

"And they told two friends, and they told two friends, and so on and so on and... " Faith laughed.

"Ha. Yes, quite. They do all seem to possess similar proclivities, don't they?" He snickered and continued, "They are generically known as Kindred, or Kindrel, and it is believed that they call themselves "The Childer of Kane", however that's not known. They tend to be extremely reclusive, and go to great lengths to hide and/or disguise their existence from humans. Some of them hunt Kaineron and Draaken from the belief that the activities of those present a lethal danger to all vampires from the potential to draw human awareness and knowledge to their existence Others leave them be for the most part, seeming to see them as a convenient cover for their own existence They organize themselves into clans based upon which of the original vampire Childer of Kane they're descended from, and have an elaborate hidden society rife with intrigue and Machiavellian politics. Each clan has certain traits. Some of them are very, very ancient, and powerful: they grow in power and strength the longer they survive. Some of them are mages, or have magical abilities. Various of the types of weres prey on them, detesting the unlife in them, and in Europe, there's been a millennial long hidden war between the two."

"'k. So... how to recognize and kill them?" Faith interjected. "Practical like stuff."

"Heh. Yes." He laughed, "You're unlikely to encounter one except by accident, as they avoid slayers like the plague, to coin a phrase. However, they are prevalent in San Francisco, I believe, and in Chicago and the Great Lakes cities. New Orleans as well, here in the US. More common in Europe, of course. And some clans do hire themselves out to other breeds and to demons on occasion as assassins, so it's always a possibility. There's one clan that specializes in assassination. Predominately of other vampires, but they're not adverse to taking contracts on particularly troublesome hunters." He paused for a moment, "Such as yourself and Summers, actually. I would imagine that the IWC would be causing massive consternation in various vampire societies."

"Wonderful," she remarked.

"Yes. Not the word I would have chosen, but it will suffice." He went on, "Wooden stake to the heart paralyzes them, rather than killing. Although that leaves them open to other means at your more or less leisure. Extremely old ones may be completely immune to that effect. Decapitation kills, fire, sunlight, and the claws/teeth of other undead and supernatural creatures. Blood and rest heals them. Extreme thirst or damage will make them hibernate. Damage them enough and they'll go into a frenzied berzerkergang before fleeing to hibernate. No natural body temperature, however they draw warmth from feeding, and when gorged become near human warmth. Would register on infrared or thermal as someone with a slightly lower than normal body heat, or someone chilled at that time. Some go so far in hiding from human sight as to only drink procured blood, or from animals. Not all are evil, and they don't lose their souls when turned, so a soul detection spell or charm won't identify them as vampire. Teeth, claws, enormous strength... usual vampire advantages. They can draw up on enhanced abilities the more they're fed, if they have them."

He paused a moment, "Let's see... Holy symbols, crosses, water etc don't harm them, unless the person was especially religious or superstitious before being turned. Or it's an especially powerful symbol, like a relic, or in the hands of a truly holy person. They don't need an invitation to come in. I don't know about garlic, but would suspect that's a myth, as is the running water thing." He scanned the pages he was on, quickly. "Hrrm. It says here that they can turn or embrace other supernaturals, but they generally don't. Against the Rules. And they seem to consider embracing a were as creating an abomination: it's a death sentence for both the sire and the childer."

"Hrrm. Societies... " Faith asked, "Do they create human thralls or familiars as Blade and Hannibal said Draaken do?" She heard pages turning.

"Yes, however they call them 'Ghouls'. They can partially drain a human or animal and then feed it their blood and partially turn it, the thrall becoming subject to the Sire's will and influence. Ghouls have greater than normal strength, some resistance to damage, and a milder form of both vampire thirst and healing. Tendency to berzerkergang, also. Hrrm... according to this, once they drink or are fed vampiric blood thrice, they become bound to their Sire and he/she no longer needs to dominate or enthrall them. Willing slaves. They're also suspected to be able to sire dhampir... they're evidently not completely undead according to their means of turning." He paused, "No mention of whether 'Ghouling' or 'Blood Binding' would work on a Slayer."

"I have no interest in finding out personally, thank you." She laughed, "You'll have to do your own empirical research."

"Hah. No no... not going there."

"Hah. See that you don't, Watcher. Watch from a safe distance." She added, "That sounds nasty. Don't recall either mentioning that those things apply to Familiars."

"Possibly not," he remarked. "Some additional strength and speed, perhaps, and a bit faster healing. There'd have to be some incentive for someone to Familiar themselves. But still need to be thralled or coerced."

"Ha! Vampire groupies, Wes." She snickered, "Vampire novel fans and gothies would line up for it. They think it's a 'tormented and romantic existence' to be a creature of the night, or bound to one. Until it happens to them... So would politicians: anything for power."

"Yes. Humans are rather odd creatures."

"Aren't we just? Hrrrm... " She was quiet a bit, evidently thinking.

"One thing," he said, and she made an inquiring sound. "Don't bank heavily on their inclination to stay out of human notice. There are always renegades, and often those who are turned who's sires don't inform them of the rules."

"Always," She sighed. Pause, "Can you compile a lot of this stuff, including on Draaken and the odd/rare types and put it together for me? Then you can do a file dump to my laptop at some point in the near future. Handy to have."

"Quite right." He considered. "Yes, should be able to. It may take a bit... unless Wolfram and Hart already has some or most of it in their computer files. That's possible: I'll have to check." There was a slightly longer pause on his end, then... "I suspect that the mind may be catching up to the odd conversational sounds again. That sigh and thoughtful silence suggests that this wasn't a casual question, yes?"

Sigh. "Yes. I mean, no, not casual."

"Ah. What prompts the curiosity into other vampire breeds then, if I may ask? And the round about approach?"

"Was hoping you wouldn't ask that," Faith frowned. "I think I may have had an encounter with a member of one of the assassin clans. Body warmth and all." She described her interaction with the blond vampiress.

"Good gods," Wesley was silent for a long time. Faith let him think. Or brood, as the case may be. Finally, "It might be to be expected, in a way. You are currently the longest lived slayer, even counting Summers, and have acquired a bit of a reputation. Stands to reason that that might attract the interest of a Kindrel Death Dealer, just as Buffy attracted the notice of a number of Kaineron master vampires."

"Was afraid of that." She paused, "I'm noticing that I'm not hearing the sounds of a panicking Wesley marshaling the troops and asking when you should get here. This worries me," she laughed.

"Ha. It is being considered, seriously." Wesley made a thoughtful sound, "What is giving me pause is concern that rather than being of assistance, we might instead give this assassin more things to use against you. Rather than taking care of yourself, you might end up getting killed from having to split your attention while attempting to protect us. She would know how to deal with Angel, as well." He paused, "You seem to have succeeded in obtaining her word to leave your other friends alone."

"In a very weird sort of way, this reminds me of Buffy trying to push out Xander in order to protect him. Only in reverse," Faith remarked. "You sound like you believe her word might be worth the blood behind it?"

"Rather apt turn of phrase," Wesley stated. "Yes, if she is what she claims. Certain of the various Kindrel clans place a high regard on their honor and their word. She would lose a great deal of face and status giving it to a lesser being such as yourself, and then being forsworn. It might cost her having to face challenge from others of her rank and clan to not lose more than merely status."

"Lesser being. I get all warm inside when you hand out compliments like that." Faith snickered, "Good thing I have a secure ego, huh?"

"Quite. However, I was certain you knew what I meant."

"Quite," Faith's voice was dry and Wesley laughed. "So she not only probably will keep her word, but she was serious about possibly trying to turn me, then."

"Possibly, Faith. While it is rare, there have been cases of past slayers being turned. It almost always creates an extremely dangerous threat that's hard to eliminate."

"No. Really?" They both laughed. "Actually, that's reassuring, Wes. It gives me an idea for a possible plan. I need to go eat, then prepare to hunt, and let this percolate and see if it develops into something."

"Indeed? Excellent. Do make certain you include an escape route. Plans generally are more survivable when you do." Wesley paused, then, "By the way: that hesitation was not a refusal to head out there with the cavalry. Consider it, and call if you decide that's best. Meanwhile, I'll set everything we have and that I can find on our FTP so that you can grab it at your leisure. I believe you still have the access?"

"Coolness. Yes, thanks. And I know, Wes, thanks." She paused, considering. "I may need some non-Apocalypse style muscle out here though. Legal Eagle type - a couple of... friend got themselves hooked into this with some weapons charges on them."

"Hrmm." She could almost hear Wesley frowning over that one. "I'll pass it along to Angel. We can probably have one of the affiliated firms Wolfram and Hart has on retainer there send someone to look into it for you."

"Thanks," Faith said, relived. "_Really_ gotta run, Wes - that rumbling sound isn't thunder."

He laughed and said "Quite all right," into a dead phone a few minutes later. _'Watcher man, eh?'_ There was a comfortable and familiar sound to that that he found he rather enjoyed.

**...**

She had breakfast in the restaurant, and then lunch via room service. The rest of the day was spent noodling around on her guitar and thinking things through. By mid afternoon, she was pretty certain that what she had running around in the back of her mind didn't quite qualify as a plan, necessarily, but it had definite possibilities.

Figuring out the best way to bring it about and put it into action was a problem. Especially with having 'not getting dead' and 'not getting turned' being critical elements, from her point of view at least.

She killed the rest of the day with a long workout and a swim. One thing that prison had done for her: by the time she'd escaped with Wes, she'd been in the best shape she'd every been in. It was a way to burn time on the clock. She'd made a decision after to not let her condition slip any, keeping up the intense, almost brutal, workout routine she'd set for herself while inside.

The weight and exercise machines at the Marriott's gym weren't designed for someone of her strength, but maxed out all the way they'd do. She found herself missing the gym at Blade's. Not the only thing she missed there. Nothing to do for that now... No audience here, the gym was almost deserted except for her. No disgusted guys freaked out and muttering in her wake about the five foot five inch girl doing reps with more weight than they had in their bodies. Not that she really minded leaving guys wondering behind her about things like that. The capacity of people to rationalize away what they'd seen with their own eyes never failed to amaze her. Once she was gone, they'd forget, explain it away, or pretend it never happened.

Now though, she had an assassin after her and cops interested. Not raising any more eyebrows couldn't hurt. She made a mental not to start taking her workouts when the gym was empty for the near future.

It still didn't get her any closer to turning her vague idea into a workable plan. She grabbed a quick shower followed by a hurried meal in the hotel restaurant, then took a fast, careful patrol around her hotel before heading out. Nothing caught either her attention or her slayer senses, and she headed the bike out into the early darkness towards the hospital.

She did the same around the hospital complex and ER after she parked her bike, only slower and even more careful. No vanishing blonde there either that she could spot, and nothing niggling at the back of her awareness. If blondie was trying to raise her paranoia levels, she was doing a good job, Faith thought to herself.

She spotted O'Brien almost immediately on entering the ER areas, standing and talking to one of the uniformed officers there. No sign of his partner... but the younger detective almost certainly had to be around somewhere. Probably patrolling, much as she had been. She flipped a mental coin, shrugged, and headed over to him as he turned away from the patrol cop. Might as well, she was going to bump into him sooner or later here.

"Hey Five-oh," Faith quirked a half smile at him. "What's the what?"

"Checking in?" The saturnine detective raised his eyebrows at her with a sourly amused look.

"Hey - might as well," she shrugged. "Gonna see me when I pop up in ICU in a few minutes anyway, right?"

"Considering how much luck the hospital staff had keeping you out last time? Probably. C'mon, I'll walk you back," He stuck his hands in his pockets and trailed along with her, heading towards the back of the waiting area and the corridor leading back to ICU. "Seen your blonde playmate again?"

"No. Any word on the Winchester brothers?"

"Not really. Still critical," O'Brien shook his head. "The older one was conscious briefly earlier, according to the nursing staff, but went back under after a few minutes. No real change yet on the younger."

"That's good though, right? Means Dean's coming out of it a bit?" Faith sent a worried look up at him.

"Beats me," he shrugged. "They took a lot of damage, and the doctors aren't exactly sticking their necks out to give us a prognosis."

She frowned, shaking her head. She noticed there was a plain clothes standing across the corridor outside of ICU - he had that distinct 'cop feel' to him. O'Brien gave him a nod as they went by, confirming it to her mind. O'Brien gave Faith a vague wave in the direction of the Winchester's beds as he went over to ask the nurse some questions. She took it as a 'go ahead' anyway, and wandered over to Dean's bed, stopping by Sam's briefly to look down at him.

She brushed lank hair from Dean's eyes when she reached him, and stood gazing down at him, frowning. Worried and trying to sort out what was going on inside of her, as well. Nice guy all in all, and she'd liked him well enough - well enough to spend the night with him anyway. But she'd already figured out this wasn't a 'keeper', if there was even such a thing for her any more. They'd have been parting ways in a day or so anyway, even if he and Sam had stayed over another day or so...

So why the sick ache in her gut, looking down at the damage the vampire bitch had done to him and his brother? Sure - she was sorry that he'd gotten hurt by something coming after her. And once she figured out how to get a line on and locate the bitch, she was going to put paid to the blonde assassin for that. She hadn't quite figured out all the angles on this 'good/bad' thing yet, but she had figured out that you don't let things casually damage bystanders and get away with it. You don't let them trash people you like just to get a rise out of you either. But... she'd seen guys she'd bedded killed before, afterwards, and hadn't been this trashed over it. Sucked, yeah, and it pissed you off, but it happened - it was part of the territory.

Dean and his brother were demon hunters; it was a part of their territory now, too. Just like the three month to two year shelf life on a slayer: sooner or later they were going to go up against something bigger and badder, and it was going to be the death of one or both of them. If not the bitch stalking Faith, then something they found on their own, or the demon haunting their family.

_'Gettin' soft, girl. Just like Angelus taunted you with when you were trying to put Angel's soul back in him,'_ she thought. _'Is this a part of the learning to be a good guy thing they forgot to mention?'_ She didn't have a map for this territory, didn't know if they made one even, and didn't know how to navigate it.

If the blonde Kindrel hadn't been lying through her fangs, she'd marked _Faith_ and the Winchesters had only been a way to get Faith's attention. Best thing Faith could do for Dean and his brother was to get as far away from them as possible, if that were the case, and draw the bitch after her.

She found herself reluctant to do that, though, smart thing or not. And looking down at Dean and trying to will him to come awake and get better, it suddenly hit her that it had nothing to do with the vampire or the fact that he and his brother had probably gotten hurt because of her. Nothing and everything to do with the fact that she'd liked him enough to spend the night with him even after meeting his family's pet demon the hard way...

She'd woken up in a place like this once, scared, alone, and not quite sure what was going on or really where she was even. Only knowing that she hurt, and she was alone, and in a hospital. She didn't want someone she kind of liked going through that, waking up without any face or voice they knew around them.

And she didn't want to go off and never know for certain if they'd even woken up, or died here. _'Is it as simple as that?'_ Faith wondered. _'How the hell do normal people figure this stuff out, and why does it hurt so damned much?'_

"You ok?" O'Brien's voice brought her abruptly out of the inside of her head. She raised her head absently to find the older cop watching her like a puzzle he was trying to figure out. _'Join the club, cop. You figure me out, send a clue my way'._

"No. Yeah. Maybe," she shook her head, and gave him a smile that felt like it was pasted on.

"Here," he handed her a handkerchief. "You're leaking."

She took it with a surprised look at him, then touched her cheek and brought her fingertips away to find them wet. "So I am. Thanks." She used the kerchief to wipe her face and eyes, crumpled it and started to hand it back.

"Keep it," O'Brien gave her a half smile. "Kind of a serious attachment for a one night stand, eh?"

Faith winced slightly, then gave him a sour look. "Yeah. I was just trying to figure that out myself." She narrowed her eyes slightly, "You always test people with a dull knife, Five-oh?"

His turn to wince slightly. "Yeah. Gets to be a job habit."

"Must be kind of rough on your friends," Faith gave a harsh laugh. "Never mind." She shook it off with a toss of her head, "You get anything out of the nurse?"

"A little bit," O'Brien nodded. He motioned at the bed, "Dean Winchester is supposed to be more or less ok once they get him stabilized, unless he has internal injuries they haven't found yet. The brother though... he had internal bleeding as well and they're low on his blood type."

"Crap," Faith looked over at the other bed, eyes dark. Something dimly remembered from several years ago joggled at her memory. "Hey... " O'Brien raised his eyebrows in a questioning look. "Can you ask if they can take from a donor?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Something I think I overheard from when I was in a hospital last... my blood type's O-something?" She shook her head, "Can't remember. I don't get sick often. Something about a universal donor?"


	6. Chapter 6: Not playing by the rules

**Chapter 6: **_**"Not playing by the rules... "**_

"Here you go," Detective Giambione handed her a plastic bottle of Sunny Delight from one of the nearby convenience stores.

"My hero," Faith smirked. "A cop being nice to me. I'm all freaking out here." She batted her eyelashes at him. She was lying on an ICU bed at the moment with a large band aid on her inner arm from where they'd extracted blood, and feeling almost as woozy as the time Angelus had started to drain her.

Giambione smirked back, "We're softening you up for the rubber hoses later. More effective when you're lulled into a sense of false security."

"It's working. You can't believe how falsely secure I feel."

"Good. Hate for the effort to go to waste. A dollar and nineteen cents on a cop's salary is a lot of money," he looked pointedly at the orange juice. "I'll have to put in overtime now."

snicker "I'll pay you back, honest." She gave him a wide-eyed and earnest look, "Just as soon as they let me up I'll go knock over an ATM."

"Stop that," he laughed. "You're not supposed to warn me of prior intent. I'll have to arrest you."

"Ooh. With like, handcuffs and everything?" She almost snorted orange juice out her nose at his expression.

"I give up," he rolled his eyes slightly. "I'll let Obie deal with you. He's better with delinquents"

"Quitter." She frowned, "Obie?"

"O'Brien. Obie for short." His turn to frown, "You'd probably best stick to O'Brien until you know him better."

"Ah. No worries," she gave him a mischievous look. "I'm going to come up with my own ways to annoy him. No fair stealing yours - that's cheating." Faith's eyes sobered slightly, and she glanced at the younger Winchester's bed. "Hope this does some good."

"Can't hurt," he shrugged. "You planning to stick around here for awhile?"

"Not going anywhere. They want to check me in a bit, the nurse said, and take some more blood later if they think I can survive it." Faith made a face. "After that... there's a waiting area up the hall a bit with a good view of the ICU. Figure I'll park myself there until morning." She lifted an eyebrow at him, "Why? Want to make sure where I am so I won't walk in on you ransacking my rooms?"

"Ha. No - just wanted to know where you'd be in case we need to lay hands on you for some reason," Giambione laughed, handing her the other bottle of SunnyD. "Later."

"First handcuffs, now you're getting grabby," she shook her head. "I'm going to make you buy me dinner before you go any farther."

Giambione laughed again as he wandered off, presumably to find his partner. Faith lay there nursing the OJ and brooding as the wooziness wore off, waiting for the ICU staff to get around to deciding they could drain her again. Worse than freaking vampires. She wasn't going to let them know that she'd recover from the two pints or so of blood loss a lot faster than they thought - it kept her where she wanted to be anyway without having to dodge the nursing staff.

Once they were done with taking blood, some time later, they cut her loose to free up the bed and left her to her own devices after making certain they had all of her information and cell phone number in case they needed more. True to her word, she found herself cooling her heels in the small waiting area off to one side of the corridor leading to ICU. Evidently, O'Brien or his partner had said something to the plainclothesman parked nearby about her, for beyond the occasional nod or hello, he paid her no mind when she went into or out of the ICU ward.

Even with taking the occasional patrol around the hospital and grounds, and spending time looking in on Dean and his brother, she could tell this was going to be a long night. Next time, she decided, she'd bring her laptop or something to read. The little waiting area had a television on a wall mount, but after a quick run through of the cable channels, she gave up on it in disgust. She found a chair that gave her a decent view out the door to the doors of the ICU, crossed her legs at the ankles in front of her, and settled in to watch and wait.

With little else to occupy her, she found herself worrying at the puzzle presented by Detective O'Brien and his partner. It was obvious to her that the tall detective knew more than he'd gathered from his partner's crime database check - listening in on the phone call and conversation between them with slayer hearing had told her that much. Several of the tidbits he'd dropped during the hallway questioning had confirmed that for her... at some point, he'd obviously decided to make a project out of researching one Faith LeHane and her background.

Whatever he'd run across doing that, it didn't seem to have prejudiced him against her for some reason. Interesting. While not exactly friendly, the tall cop was less hostile than guarded and cautious towards her. His partner, Giambione, seemed to have decided on a somewhat guarded friendliness of his own. O'Brien also hadn't seemed surprised by her mention of the Winchester's neck wounds. Apparently, odder than normal crimes and assaults weren't something that his Major Cases squad were unfamiliar with. _'So... have you had a rash of BBQ fork murders in Philly, detective?'_ Faith wondered. _'And are you feeling me out trying to do the same thing I am with you - trying to decide if I'm enemy or possible ally?'_

She didn't have the feeling that he was sizing her up as a potential easy solve for his problems, and that both surprised and disturbed her a bit. Non-hostile cops were outside of her experience.

Her cell phone going off was almost a welcome relief from the circles her mind was running in. She wasn't having much better luck figuring out O'Brien than she was her vampire stalker. Or herself, for that matter.

"Yo," Faith said, flipping her TracFone open.

"Faith?" Dawn Summers' voice, both cautious and a little hesitant. Hesitant?

"Hey, Little-D? What's up?" A surprisingly pleasant thrill at the familiar voice went through her, along with a slight wince of guilt - she hadn't remembered to stay in touch after leaving NYC and Blade's like she'd said she would.

"Not much. Taking a short break from studying and thought I'd give you a shout," Dawn paused. "I didn't hear from you after the big Apocalypse passed on us."

"Aw, crap. Sorry, Dawnie," Faith sighed. "I was out of it for a couple of days, and then it took me longer to wrap up getting out of New York than I'd planned."

"No big, really."

"I said I'd call, sorry. I just... forgot." Jeez, that sounded lame to her own ears. "Got wrapped up in things."

"It's ok," Dawn said. "No big. So... where'd you end up? And how goes the journey?"

"Philly for now. And it kind of dead ended on me while I deal with a few things here."

"You sound a bit distracted. Did I catch you in the middle of something?"

Faith choked down a wild impulse to laugh hysterically at that. "You... could kind of say that," she started snickering helplessly, unable to stop for a minute.

"Ummm... you want me to let you go and call later?"

"No... " Faith got the snickering under control, with an effort. "Sorry. Just... with everything right now, that was just a really unfortunate question, timing wise."

"What's up?" Dawn sounded about halfway between bemused and exasperated.

Good gods... where to begin on that one? "Cooling my heels right now in a hospital," she began...

_"Christ!_ Are you ok?" Wow. Bemused to concerned in seconds flat.

"Yeah! Whoa - calm down. I'm ok," Faith shook her head. "Just... having a problem that has fangs, and some acquaintances of mine got blindsided by it. I'm kind of keeping a watch on their hospital room at night while I figure out what to do about it."

"Ah. Tell me about it?" There was still something in the younger girl's voice Faith was having a hard time pinning down.

"Yeah... lemme figure out where to start," Faith paused, then launched in and laid things out from her arrival in Philly.

"Wow. And crap." Dawn's voice was sober, "Demon hunters, possession demons, and vampire assassins. Was kind of hoping you'd get a break after all that crap with Robin, and then New Jersey and the Pit. So this vamp trashed your friends just to get your attention?"

"No joy, I guess. A peaceful vacation doesn't seem to be in the cards," Faith laughed a bit sourly. "And, yeah... or so she says."

"Ok, so how'd this vampire assassin know to pick up on you there?" Dawn asked. "You didn't tell anyone that you were headed to Philadelphia next, right?"

"Huh... " Faith gave a long startled pause. "That's... a damned good question, Dawn. I am having an off-my-game week. And, no... " She frowned, thinking. "Wes. Doubt he'd sell me out, or Angel. No one else I can think of."

"Four days... five to six maybe," Dawn's voice was thoughtful. "That's not a lot of time to spot you and get someone there to deal with you, with no advance notice. Possible that someone spotted you and sold you to her?"

"Possible... " Faith's voice was doubtful. "Only thing I can think of, right now, maybe. I haven't really been doing any hunting or prowling the vampire and demon haunts since I got here, but... possible that a Familiar spotted me and gave me over."

"Hrrmm. Let's give that some thought and see if anything comes to mind," Dawn said. "Anything I can do to help? Or that we can?"

"Ha. I'm trying to picture giving my suspicious cop, O'Brien, a group of mini-slayers and watchers running amok to deal with on top of me. The mental image is making my brain hurt," Dawn snickered at that, and Faith laughed. "You, maybe... nose around a bit and see if anyone's heard anything about this open contract on me she mentioned?" Faith paused, thinking, "Maybe if you know of anyone in Philly who does healing magics?"

"Can do. I'll check if there's any Healers there we know, too," Dawn agreed. "So... your demon hunter. What's he like? Spill all."

"Hrrm. Good looking. Kind of nice in spite of the bad boy thing. Not bad in the sack," Dawn giggled at that. "Don't know him that well, otherwise."

"Anything special there?"

"Ahh... yeah. Maybe." Faith frowned, "Not a keeper though. Going separate directions right now."

"Ah. Not just scratching the itch though, from the sound of it."

"Dawn! I'm a bad influence on you, I can tell," Faith paused while Dawn was giggling, "Started out that way, a bit. But... I don't like things using my friends to get to me. S'not allowed."

"Yeah. Agree. What's the plan, the usual?"

"Yup. Locate, lure her in, and ice her. Just as soon as I figure out the details," Faith agreed in a dry tone. _Oh._ It suddenly hit her what the diffident and cautious tone in the other girl's voice had been. Younger sister of the other slayer, who'd been pushed aside and/or basically ignored by big sis to protect her. Who'd gotten to be kind of friends and confidantes with the other older slayer - who'd apparently milked her brain during a crisis then dropped abruptly out of contact and dumped her afterwards, to all appearances. After being a friend when Faith needed her. Crap...

"Heya, Dawnie?" Her voice was soft.

"Yeah?"

"It is a big, and I'm sorry. Won't happen again," Faith said. "I'm not real good at this friends thing yet, y'know?"

"Yeah... " The other girl's voice was soft too. "I know. Me neither, really."

"You?" Faith's voice came out surprised. "I don't get that."

"Hey - grew up on the Hellmouth, right? Even if most of my memories of growing up there aren't real, they're still real in my head," Dawn laughed. "Home of the dysfunctional relationship, remember?" She sounded thoughtful, "Moving there like I remember would've broken up what few friendships I had in LA. Xander and Willow were buds, but they were Buffy's friends: Xan and Will were more like another big brother and sister. And after things did get real... between Glory and everything else up to the First, mom dying, Buffy dying and coming back, things were kinda weird at best." She snickered, "My only real close friend was a psychotic vampire with a stalker fixation on my sister and an anti-violence chip in his head."

"Hah. Yeah... I guess so." Faith laughed, "Not much of a basis for figuring out this life thing, huh?"

"Yup. Maybe you're not the only one who isn't real tightly wrapped sometimes," Dawn's voice went soft again. "I have a lot of acquaintances, it seems like. Somehow you're the only grownup friend I've made so far that's mine, you know? Not Buffy's friend who's just nice to the kid sis."

"Huh. Yeah. Me too... " Faith did find herself surprised by that. "Angel, for me, but that's different. Complicated. Vi, maybe."

"Complicated, yeah. Good word. Like me and Spike."

"Yeah. Look... " Faith paused, thinking. "Can't promise I'm always going to be good at this, y'know? But you kept me sane that week or so after Robin and I went smash and I was trying to deal with the Pit an' all. Means a lot. I'm not gonna just drop off and dump you." She laughed softly, "I may lose track a bit when things get hairy on me though. "

"No worries. Maybe we can figure out this friends thing together?" Dawn paused, then, "You have to make sure not to die on me though, you hear?"

"Yeah. Working on that one."

"Serious. Don't let trying to protect your friends make you forget that they want to help, too," Dawn said. "If you need help there, call someone."

"I will. If it does get too hairy... I'll give Blade and Abby a shout. Maybe Vi." Faith nodded into the phone. "Why don't I give you a call tomorrow after I get up if I can remember how the time thing works, and I'll fill you in on what happened after we last talked from Jersey City, all right?"

"Sounds good. Don't worry about the time difference - if it's late, I'll probably be up studying anyway. Be a good break from the books."

"Good deal," Faith said. "Think I'm going to take another patrol around the ER and grounds here. My butt's going to sleep planted in this chair."

After they made their good byes, Faith stood and stretched, then did just that. Still nothing off around the place. Maybe blondie had meant it when she gave her word that Dean and Sam had no more danger from her. Faith was still going to feel a lot better about it when they recovered enough to be moved to a room that could be warded.

Coming back through the crowded ER, she slowed a bit, something niggling at the edges of her awareness. She glanced around casually as she headed slowly across the to hallway leading to ICU. There, maybe... another plainclothes cop leaning on the counter talking with one of the desk nurses. He had that look to him that spelled 'police' to her, plus something else she couldn't quite figure. She spotted one of the ICU nurses from earlier and veered that way to lean over the desk next to the plainclothesman, asking the nurse if there was any change in the Winchesters, or if they needed any more blood from her. Listening in on the cop's conversation with the other nurse all the while.

Getting a negative response to both questions from the nurse, she headed back to ICU and her waiting area, frowning.

The earlier cop by the ICU doors had been replaced, evidently. Instead, there was a huge, very black detective with a mustache leaning against the wall. Nothing 'off' about this one. He felt pure human to her slayer sense, and non-evil, or as close as she could ever tell with people.

"Man. They grow them big down here," she stopped in front of him before heading into the ICU ward.

"They grow them small where ever you're from," he grinned down at her. This one could almost give Blade a run for his money in the tall-plus-muscles department.

"Hey - dynamite comes in small packages, guy." She cocked her head looking up at him, quirking a smile. "You one of O'Brien's people?"

"Yeah," he said. "You'd be the Lehane girl, right?"

"Got it in one," she leaned forward, and added softly, "You see the badge in the suit talking to the desk nurse, just past my shoulder?"

His eyes flicked casually in that direction and back to her, suddenly alert, "Yeah, baby?"

"He one of your people?" Faith gave him a serious look when he shrugged, "He was asking the nurse up there a lot of questions about the Winchesters."

"Hrmmm... " He glanced over her head and past her again, then back.

"Dunno. Just seems kinda 'off' to me," Faith shrugged, "Might want to pass that on to O'Brien?"

He nodded and she stepped past him and into the ICU, wondering if she'd just done the right thing, or made a major screwup in alerting the big cop. Trusting her instincts that O'Brien both knew more than he was saying and that she was reading him right was unfamiliar territory, and something that could blow up on her badly.

But ignoring a cop that gave off a faint whiff of vampiric taint to her senses could blow up even worse, and dealing with something like that was so far out of her job description it wasn't funny.

**...**

Dean tossed in his sleep a few times while she was watching him this time, mumbling incoherently at times. His eyes never opened and he didn't wake up, but she could see eye movement under his closed lids that indicated he was dreaming. Progress, maybe. She hoped. She stroked his brow and spoke to him softly for a bit, and he eventually stopped tossing and turning and went deeper to sleep.

Back in her chair, she leaned back and watched the rest of the night without incident, dozing at times. She saw the 'off' feeling plainclothes cop leave after awhile, and when she went to the doors to watched, he seemed to drive off from the hospital and leave the lot. He didn't come back that she saw or sensed. Patrolling the grounds and ER didn't turn up anything threatening, either.

By near morning, she was bored, restless, and past ready to kill something. Inactivity was something that had never sat real well with her. She'd much rather hunt than wait over a watering hole for game... problem was, she didn't have a good idea where to start hunting. In an unfamiliar city with a dangerous predator hunting her, running amok blindly tearing up stuff and beating the bushes was a good way to get dead, fast. Telling herself that didn't help.

And there was also the consideration that playing a waiting game and letting her stalker pick her own time and place to come after Faith was a good way to get dead, too...

Faith didn't care much for any of her options right at the moment. And she needed more information before she could create better ones - information she didn't have. Where and how to get it was the question.

A bit less than a hour before dawn she took a last patrol, and decided that it was probably safe enough at this point to leave and head back to her hotel. Assassin bitch could show up at this point and do something to the Winchester brothers if she were inclined to not keep her word, but she'd be cutting it a bit close to sunrise.

Back at her hotel, she puttered around a bit unwinding. Still too wired to sleep, and too close to daylight for vampire hunting. She hooked up her laptop and checked to see if Wes had set up the files he'd promised. Finding them uploaded, she grabbed them and set them downloading while she thought on her problem. Looking at the files, something Wesley had mentioned gave her a germ of an idea. _'Enemy of my enemy may not be my friend,'_ she thought, _'but they can be damned useful at times. Hrmm.'_

She had a damned good idea of the hours Blade, King, and Abby kept, and knew that someone would be awake over there. She thought about it a bit more and dialed the number of the compound from memory. Abby picked up the phone after several rings.

"Yo, Abs. How goes?"

"Faith? Hey!" Cool - Abby sounded glad to hear from her, at least. "What's up?"

"Usual," Faith grinned into the phone. She suddenly remembered how much she'd enjoyed her time with the odd trio of vampire hunters. "How's you?"

"Pretty good, all in all. We've been working on putting the Nightstalkers back together after Drake wiped most of them out. Otherwise... it's been a bit dull since you wandered off," Abby laughed. "It's good to hear from you."

"Hey - don't knock dull. Dull is good sometimes."

"Is that the voice of experience?" Abby asked.

"Umm... welll... " Faith laughed. "Let me get back to you on that. Next time I see 'dull', I'll try it and let you know."

"About what I thought. Usual - that means you're up to your eyebrows tearing up demon bars somewhere?"

"Something like," Faith agreed. "Got a question for you: I'm checking into a vampire problem, and could use some intel. You happen to know of any major vampire bars or haunts in Philly and where they're located? Or possibly some of the bigger Draaken players out here?"

"Philly? Not offhand. Blade probably would, but he's out hunting still... " Abby said. "You need it right this second?"

"Naw. If you can turn up something... can email me the names and locations, maybe?"

"No problem. Huh... " Abby's voice grew thoughtful. "Anything that you need a hand with?"

"Possible. I can maybe give you a shout if it's more than I can handle myself?"

"Do that. No 'maybe' to it."

"Good deal." Faith chatted to the other slayer for a bit, then clicked off with a promise to call back sometime soon.

Pulling the mess of files back up, she continued to read through until she wound down enough to start feeling sleepy, finally. When she caught herself yawning and having to reread something for the third time, she decided it was past time to call it quits for the night. Giving the files a quick glance over, she bundled up everything that didn't have a Wolfram and Hart identifier on or in it, which was the majority, then set them uploading to her own web storage and shot emails to Vi and Dawn with a download url and a note to check and grab them in a couple of hours or later for reference.

Might as well spread the joys, she figured, and went to bed.

**...**

(Day 4; _Monday, December 8, 2003_)

Six hours of sleep, and plenty well rested. Dreamless sleep at that, or mostly so, which was interesting. Meant that whatever she was wrapped up into wasn't apocalyptic since the Powers weren't taking enough of an interest to send her cryptic hints... merely life threatening.

Faith decided upon reflection that that really wasn't all that reassuring.

She grabbed a shower, then followed it up with an hours workout in the hotel gym followed by breakfast. She went back to reading through the materials Wesley had sent, frowning and thinking things through in context with the current situation. Useful, not a great deal of immediate help, and raised a number of interesting and disconcerting possibilities when placed in context with any number of other bits of information. 'Too many blue sky pieces, Faith,' she thought. 'Need to find something that the rest of this clicks around... ' There were times, she reflected, that it would be handy to have a real, full time Watcher so she wouldn't have to puzzle through things herself. But that'd mean getting tied back in tighter with the IWC than she cared for right now...

Her cell went off while she was worrying at things. She picked it up, frowned at the display, then grinned and took the call.

"Abby?"

"Faith. Good morning?"

"Morning, anyway, for me at least. Hold the 'good' for now," Faith said in a dry tone. "What's up?"

"Check your email when you get a chance: there's a few possibilities for you to run down on what you were asking about," Abby said. "Starting places anyway, at least on the players - they tend to move around."

"Cool, thanks." Faith thought a moment, "Can reciprocate. You have Skype?"

"Sure. Whatcha got?" Abby read off her Skype ID and number.

"Catch a file package, then. Hang on... let me get a transfer set up." Faith pulled the laptop over and added Abby's ID to her user list, then started the transfer running after Abby ok'd her on her end. "A bunch of stuff Wes sent me that you guys might find useful. Most of the Draaken stuff you probably already have, but there may be odds and ends of things you don't in it. And there's a lot of info on the standard demonic Kaineron vamps, plus bits on some of the rarer types." She paused, "And something that may be new to you guys as well."

"Cool. The demonic vampire stuff will come in handy: we've been seeing a lot more of them lately." Abby stated. "Calls for some differences in tactics and knowing which kind you're dealing with."

"Drawn to the baby Hellmouth," Faith said. "Figures. Demons are drawn to demonic power sinks."

"Yeah. Luckily, our normal vampires tend to hunt them as much as we do."

"Get a couple of Master level ones migrating in to the Hellmouth, and that can get interesting." Faith mused, "They can breed like rats once that happens."

"It's already interesting," Abby laughed. "Between that, the turmoil we spread shaking up all of the demon bars out here, and Vince's little demonic gangland cleanup op, things have been hopping a bit. Blade said that if he'd known how much chaos you left in your wake ahead of time, he would have left you for vampire food." She paused, "I think he was joking, though... "

"Blade jokes?" Faith said in a wondering tone, then snickered. "Wow. Do you have that on film?"

"On rare occasions he does," Abby said, her voice dry. "It's hard to tell sometimes."

"I'll bet. Well... at least no one dropped you in an active Hellmouth with one stuffy old British fart and a couple of high school kids for backup," Faith laughed. 'Speaking of... did you decide to get in touch with Vi after I left?"

"Yeah. We set up a meet on neutral ground and got things going, then agreed to visit the school and council building. Your friend Vi seems ok," Abby laughed. "Rupert Giles and Blade struck sparks off of each other a bit, though. You should have been there."

Faith snickered, "I'd have paid good money to see that meeting." Abby laughed and agreed that it was choice, and Faith added, "Giles is generally ok, but he has a tendency to not deal well with things that fall outside of his concepts of 'how it is done'. He does adjust though, and his heart's usually in the right place." She paused a moment, considering, "Not always certain about his judgment. Suspect he has some of the same problem I do: he's field people at heart, and administration's not something he always copes well with."

"Maybe," Abby sounded dubious.

"Well, once he and Vi get finished sorting out the issues Robin left behind, he'll head back to England and Vi will be the one you'll be dealing with."

Abby snickered, "She and Hannibal hit it off pretty well."

"Hey, there ya go," Faith said. "Maybe you can get King laid over there and unwind him a bit. Win/win, y'know?"

Both women laughed, then Abby asked, "So, what have you got going in Philly?"

sigh "Almost wish you hadn't asked," Faith said. "Not quite sure yet, but it's nasty." She gave Abby a brief rundown of the situation.

"Ok... " There was a long silence on Abby's end of the conversation. "Out on the edge with no backup. Not good, Faith. Want us to set things out up here to run without us, and then head down that way?"

"Almost the same thing Dawn asked me," Faith sighed. "Yes, like nothing better. And no... not just yet."

"You have a tendency to lone wolf things until you're sure just what you need help with, don't you," Abby stated. "It's going to get you killed one of these days, Faith. Sooner or later things will snowball on you while you're figuring them out, and it'll be too late to shout for help."

"Yeah... " Faith said. "Not disagreeing. Thing is... I have cop issues too, and I'm not sure I want to drop you guys in the middle of them until I'm sure they won't become your cop problems when I do."

"Cop issues, huh," Abby said. "Cop issues, or Familiar issues?"

"Cop, definitely Maybe both," Faith paused, thinking. "I'm pretty sure O'Brien and his partners are clean and level. But right now, neither of us are completely sure about each other. Don't want to send things all pear shaped until I know whether he's enemy or ally - that's a damned good way to make an enemy when you don't have to." She paused, adding, "And I'm pretty sure there's at least one familiar involved. I seem to have gotten more sensitive lately: I can kind of sense when something is 'off' about someone, and this guy definitely has the taint."

"Hmmm. Tell you what. I'll talk to the others, and we'll set up so we can head down at a moments notice," Abby said. "Remember what you taught me: rule number one is 'don't die', Faith. You can't sort anything out if you get killed on us."

"Yes mommy. And I'll be sure to dry behind my ears, too." Faith's voice was dry.

Abby laughed, "Yeah yeah. I know: I'm telling the pro how to steal sheep." Her voice sobered, "Pros get killed too, Faith."

"Yeah. Thanks," Faith's voice softened. "I know. Catch up on the stuff I sent over... this may call for slightly different tactics and hardware than what you guys are used to. When I have targets, I'll give you a call."

"Do that," Abby agreed. "Take care of yourself, ok?"

"Will do." Faith clicked off the phone, feeling both unsettled and oddly comforted by the other girl's concern. Having other people worried for her wasn't something she was used to, still. Strange feeling for her.

_'First Dawn, now this. I'm definitely getting soft,'_ she thought. Problem was... she seemed to have misplaced the ability to recapture the old 'don't need nobody' edge somewhere along the way, and she couldn't manage to convince herself that recapturing it was a good thing.

Speaking of Dawn, she'd promised the younger girl a call last night. Might as well... nothing to do right now except assassinate the clock until darkness fell. They managed to kill the rest of the afternoon into the early evening catching up on the closing of the Pit outside of Jersey City and events afterwards. And in catching up on things at Dawn's end. Faith finally ended the call after noticing the time and remarking that she needed to get some food before heading out. She cut the connection with a vague feeling of regret, realizing that she was enjoying the casual conversation and closeness more than she'd expected. _'Yup, definitely getting soft,'_ she thought.

She took some things out of her kit and stashed them around her coat for armaments, then headed down to the hotel restaurant to grab a meal before heading out for the night.

Dark had fallen by the time she finished and started out to her bike. Early darkness - there was still a very faint glow over the horizon as she exited the hotel.

Not early enough... she heard a faint ripping sound through the air with a sharp twang! following a moment behind it. She was already moving, throwing herself forward into a flat diving roll as the sound of shattering safety glass came from nearby the spot she'd just left. 'Crossbow' her mind registered even as she was rolling to her feet and taking a fast, long step to put a vehicle between herself and the direction the bolt came from. 'Above and behind where I was standing,' went through her mind as she moved to the front of the SUV she'd ended up behind. Cocking and loading sounds came to her as she was moving, fast ones. Vampiric speed.

She risked straightening to throw a fast glance in the direction the cocking sounds had come from, and another bolt slammed into the roof of the SUV, six inches to the left of her head. There - top of the parking garage just past the restaurant.

Faith straightened the rest of the way and stepped around the front of the vehicle, ready to dodge in either direction. "Missed me," she remarked, regarding the blonde vampiress three stories above her.

"I hit right where I was aiming, Slayer," the blonde said, matter of fact. She continued to cock and load the crossbow while regarding Faith, and walking casually along the edge of the parking garage rooftop parallel to her.

"Playing games?" Faith snorted. "That'll get you killed, lick."

"You're the one playing games, Slayer. Mis-playing them." She had the crossbow loaded now, holding it casually in one hand, butt resting on her hip. Modern design, a Barnett, Faith noted. One hundred and eighty five pound draw, over 400+ feet per second, self-cocking. "Hiding in your warded hotel room by day, taking advantage of my word to lurk in the Winchester's ICU ward at night... not playing by the rules."

"Why don't you come down here and we'll discuss it?" Faith laughed, making it scornful. "Ain't no 'rules' in this." Fifty feet to the parking garage entrance from where she stood, maybe sixty. Unknown distance to the stairwell from inside, and three flights up. The blonde 'Death Dealer' had picked her spot nicely. Slayers were capable of feats of agility that would make an Olympic gymnast croak from envy or give up in disgust, but a three story leap upwards wasn't one of them. No real hand holds to jump to and use to launch herself up, not without getting picked off by that crossbow while climbing.

"All in good time, as I said before," the blonde stated, calmly. "This is show and tell: incentive time. I can reach you whenever I wish, and I can escalate the incentives until you decide to stop hiding and come after me."

"Oh, don't sweat the small stuff, bitch," Faith said, moving forward a bit. "I'll come for you in my own good time, not yours." The huntress was too far out and up for a throwing spike or stake: she'd be gone before it hit. No gun... she regretted deciding to leave those hidden while she sorted out O'Brien, not wanting to deal with firearms hassles. A single sundog round would end this. Maybe, Faith thought... she still wasn't that great a shot, and hadn't had much time for practice and training.

"I have other business besides yourself, Slayer. I'm not interested in _your_ time table." While the blonde was talking, Faith took another step forward, then another, closing the distance slightly. She palmed a UV-grenade while her hand was hidden behind her trailing leg and thumbed the arming switch, stepping forward again. 10... 9... 8...

"We've established neither of us care about the other's concerns," Faith snickered, stepping forward again. 5... 4... The crossbow came level and fired, aimed dead on for her this time, not to one side. Her left hand blurred and she caught the bolt out of the air just behind the head, stopping it dead inches away from her left eye.

Faith flipped the crossbow bolt and threw it back at almost normal crossbow velocity. She stepped in as the blonde sidestepped it predictably, bringing her right arm up and pegging the UV-grenade at the vampiress, hard and fast. "Or, I can come up and we can talk, I'm easy," she said, running flat out for the parking garage entrance.

The grenade went off ahead and above her as she reached the entranceway, a brief burst of concentrated sunlight lighting up the parking lot and the side of the Marriott as it burst. She heard a horrible scream shortly after as she paused just inside, eyes blinking away flash spots and searching for the stairway. Faith headed for the stairs, fast, low and cautious, taking out a pair of throwing spikes as she ran. They were waiting for her on the third level, as she'd almost expected them to be, by the landing leading up to the rooftop. Two of them moving in from the sides, right and left, one part way up the stairs waiting to block and grab her if she made it past the first two.

Vampire fast, or maybe a bit faster than normal vampires. The two at her sides lunged in, claws reaching and fangs agape, blurring as they closed on her. A throwing spike caught each one in the heart as she went past and between them, silvered steel with an ironwood covering over the first five inches past the point. They made shocked choking sounds at the impacts and were falling as she went by. _'Paralyzed, not dusting, as Wesley described. Kindrel like the blonde,'_ she thought, taking the stairs three at a time to meet the third one. _'Finish them later, if they're still here.'_

Number three hesitated, just a split second of it, evidently not expecting her speed, or not expecting her to make it past the first two so easily. Idiot. She went under his reaching arm as he struck at her, blurring as she moved. The twelve inch blade of the big Moeller bowie wasn't as good as a sword for this, but with slayer strength behind it it would do the job. His head came apart from his shoulders as she spun two stairs above him and her right arm and hand came across at neck height. His body and head came apart seconds later as whatever animated his body left it and corruption caught up with his dead flesh.

There was nothing except dust and rot on the stairs behind her as she burst out onto the roof level, diving forward and left as she did and coming up with blade in one hand and another spike in the other.

Nothing on the roof level, either. Faith moved cautiously to the last place she'd seen the vampiress, senses alive as she went. No sound, and no dust or decay in the vicinity where the grenade had gone off. Not enough wind up here to have blown it away this fast, not tonight. Her heightened senses picked up a faint scent of burnt flesh and hair a few yards from where she'd last seen the blonde assassin, and that was all. _'Bitch has more lives than a cat,'_ she thought, and a wolf's smile passed over her lips. _'But at least she can be hurt. Next time... ' _

Too many places for the blonde to have gone from here, and no real way to track her. The hotel wall where the roof parking level butted up against it was easily scaled by a vampire, and if she'd gone the other way while Faith was running up the stairs and dealing with her minions, a three story drop was nothing to vampiric strength. She examined the area carefully, making sure the blonde wasn't lurking anywhere in the vicinity, recovered the spent UV-grenade, and headed back down the stairwell.

Both minions were still where she'd left them, collapsed motionless on the concrete near the stairwell. She glanced around cautiously as she went down to them. No traffic here at the moment, foot or vehicle. Good. Someone had evidently taken a dislike to the only security camera focused on the stairwell area and the Marriott hadn't replaced it yet: it was bent on its mount aiming at the ceiling, and the little red light was dead. None of the other cameras on this level covered this spot in their arcs. She grinned, moving to the two paralyzed minions and examining them.

A quick, sharp chop with the big bowie across the neck disposed of one of them, and she recovered her spike before he came apart in decay. She smashed the other one's knees with a boot and then bent him backwards, breaking his back for good measure, before jerking the spike out and squatting on her haunches a few feet away, regarding him.

He gasped and contorted, then focused on her with a glare, gnashing his fangs. "You bitch!"

"Now, now. Language, chuckles," Faith said, holding the bowie casually as she looked him over. "You'll heal, if I let you live long enough."

"You are so fucking dead, it's not even funny."

"Gee. _I'm_ not the one with broken knees and back who has a slayer looking at him," Faith smirked. "Talk to me. Or I drag you up to the hotel roof, put this back in, and leave you for sunrise," she flipped the spike in her left hand.

"Fuck you," he snarled at her, and snapped his fangs futilely.

"Whatever," she stood easily, and flipped the spike into a throwing grip, regarding him dispassionately.

"Wait!" He choked out. "What do you want?"

"Your blonde bitch playmate have a name?"

"You let me live if I tell you what you want?"

She just looked at him flatly, giving him no promises. "I'll kill you if you don't. I understand that sunlight's a hard way to go."

"Elora. She calls herself Elora," he choked out, like the words hurt him.

"Where can I find her? And what does she have planned here?"

He laughed, harshly. "We're just hired muscle. She didn't tell us anything like that." He made a sour face, "Promised us the blood of a Slayer. Yeah, right."

"Elora, huh?" Faith cocked her head, "There a Master of your kind in this city? Or a Prince?"

"They don't have much to do with us street kindrel. Except to hunt us down and kill us," he shook his head and winced. "Santos is Prince of the Kindrel courts here," he added finally as she continued to regard him. "I don't know where he lives... "

Faith nodded, and then stepped forward leaning down. Her arm blurred and his head came off. "Thanks." She left his dust moldering on the floor and headed down and out to her bike, senses alert and watchful. Nothing bothered her this time, and she started the big BMW after checking it over and took off for the hospital.


	7. Chapter 7: Faith the human pincushion

**Chapter 7: **_**"Faith the human pincushion..."**_

It was hours later and she was standing by Dean Winchester's bedside, careful of the tubes and IV, when he groaned loudly. His eyes opened suddenly, wild and unfocused, and she leaned over him taking his hand.

"Hey," she tried to capture his eyes and get him to focus on her. "It's ok - you're all right."

"Faith?" He gripped her hand hard, and tried to sit up, then groaned again and fell back. She put her hand on his chest. "What... where?"

"Easy there, tough guy. Hospital. ICU." She smiled at him. "You got kind of beat up on."

"Christ! I remember... blonde bitch kicked in our door," his eyes got wild again and he whipped his head around, searching. "Sam?"

"Easy. Sam's ok more or less - he's a few beds over. Hasn't woke up yet," Faith told him. She looked down at him worriedly. "Don't try to sit up yet. I wasn't joking when I said you'd been beat up on."

"Yeah. I feel like hammered shit." He winced. "Thirsty... "

"I'll bet," she laughed softly. "Give me a minute, and I'll get a nurse. They're gonna want to know that you're awake."

"How long... ?" He nodded, then groaned again. "Ow. Movement is not a good idea... "

"Yeah. About two days. Maybe three... ? I kinda lost track," she paused. "And no, moving around's probably not a good idea. If I remember right about what a nurse said... you had a concussion, broken and cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, and massive bruising."

"Sam?" His eyes were worried.

"Same, only worse. All of the above, and internal injuries too," she said, wincing at the look in his eyes. "Getting better, but slowly."

"You're sure he's going to be ok?"

"According to what I overhear from the staff," she shook her head. "I'm no doc, Dean. I'll get a nurse - they can tell you more." He nodded, and she paused again, frowning slightly. "There's a cop name of O'Brien who's going to want to talk to you, also, as soon as he hears you're awake."

Dean frowned. "Cop? What have you told him?"

"Not much," she made a face. "O'Brien seems ok. He runs the Major Cases division here. And he seems to know a lot more about the supernatural than he's letting on. Tell him whatever you decide to - I'll deal." When he nodded, she shrugged and looked for a way to signal a nurse. Not seeing anything she immediately recognized as a call button, she gave up and went to the door and told the plainclothes cop there that Dean was awake and they needed a nurse.

When the ICU nurse arrived, she was chased out of the ICU and she leaned against the wall across from the plainclothes cop, waiting and fretting.

They seemed to take a long time in there, to her. Not surprising maybe, considering how badly the Winchesters had been injured and how long Dean had been out. When the nurses left finally, she wandered back in. Back at Dean's bedside she nodded to him and stood looking down at him, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Hey," Dean smiled up at her.

"Hey yourself," she looked him over. "Any better?"

"They gave me something for the pain," he nodded. "Waiting for a doctor now." He glanced across at the other bed, frowning slightly, "They said you gave blood for Sam?"

"Pincushion detail, that's me." Faith nodded. "Hope it helped."

"Thanks," Dean gave her a serious look. "Seems to have. The nurse said he's getting better, slowly. Have to wait for the doc for any more information." He paused, "Any idea what happened to our stuff?"

"Not really. Your motel was all over cops when I got there - I didn't go in," he nodded and she continued. "I think O'Brien has your weapons - you may have some hassles over those. Your car's probably in impound. Sort it out when you get better?"

"Have to," he agreed. His eyes searched her face. "I'm surprised you stuck around?"

"So am I, kinda." Faith smiled at him, "I... don't like things hurting people I like. I didn't want to give her another crack at your while you were out of it. Or have you wake up by yourself in a strange place... " She shrugged, trailing off.

"I'm glad you stayed," he said. Her turn to search his face, this time. Not finding any hidden meanings there, she nodded.

"Really? Wasn't sure... " she hesitated. "Kind of my fault you and your brother got hurt. Bitch is after me, and used you to get my attention."

"Looks like it worked," he said. She laughed softly and nodded as he said, "It happens. We're in that kind of a lifestyle."

"Shouldn't happen, Dean." Faith gave him a bleak look. "It's ok if they come after us because of something we did - we're hunting _them,_ so it's only fair. Going after bystanders to get to us _isn't_ ok." She shook her head, "They need to learn that that's not allowed."

"Like our family demon going after you?" He looked at her with a wry expression, "You'll have your work cut out for you teaching them that."

"Hey - someone has to," the corner of her mouth quirked up in a half-grin. "Who better?" They were both quiet for a long time after that, Faith standing by the bedside holding Dean's hand until the night shift doctor came in and chased her out of ICU again.

"Don't go too far," he admonished. "I'd like to draw some more blood from you a bit later for Sam Winchester."

"Faith the human pincushion, yup." She nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be around. Not planning on leaving just yet."

**...**

O'Brien and his partner came in before they called her over to draw blood again - evidently the hospital called him as soon as they knew the Winchesters were awake. O'Brien gave her a brusque nod as he went by; his partner giving her a friendlier one as they went into the ICU. She'd loved to have been able to overhear whatever conversation they were going to have with Dean, but figured it'd be pushing her luck to follow them into the Intensive Care ward. As it was... she heard the doctor stop them near the doors to warn them they only had a few minutes and to not exhaust his patient. Or his patience, either, most likely.

An ICU nurse came over to lead her off to a side room to draw blood while the cops were still in with Dean. It left her with nothing to do but brood for a bit after it was drawn and she was unhooked and left to recover.

After she'd had all the 'recovery' she could tolerate and got up to leave the side room AMA, she took up her post outside of the ICU again - just about the time that the two detectives were either finishing up or being chased out by the doctor. No doc following and berating them, so probably the former.

"You seem to be a fixture here lately, LeHane," O'Brien noted as they came out.

"Yup." She made a flapping motion with her elbows. "If this were the outside of the building you could colour me gray and call me a gargoyle."

"Ha," he gave her a saturnine grin at that one. "Oh well. It keeps you where I can find you if I want to, so all to the good. Winchester wanted to see you if you were out here when we got done. Might as well go on in." O'Brien jerked his thumb at the ICU doors. Giambione gave her another nod and the two of them left as she went in.

"Hey again," Dean said as she came up.

"Hey yourself." She nodded. "So... five-oh put the thumbscrews to ya?" She gave him a critical once over. Dean looked drained and exhausted compared to when he;d first woken up.

"Not too bad, surprisingly," Dean said. "The older one... O'Brien?" Faith nodded. "_Was_ careful to let me know they had that trunk full of weaponry of ours as a possible charge. He didn't seem too interested in reading me my rights though, oddly enough - almost sounded like he mentioned it as an afterthought in case I was thinking about being uncooperative."

"Typical," Faith agreed. "Bet he's not really interested in the weapons so much as having a potential charge over you for leverage."

"Yeah... doubt we'll get them back though, even if we don't end up in jail."

"We'll see about the jail thing," Faith said. "I asked a friend of mine about getting you a lawyer to help out with that stuff."

Dean looked at her, surprised. "Not that I'm not grateful, but... why are you doing all this for us?"

"I ever bump into your old man again, I don't want to have to explain to him why I got his kids into a jam and then left them hanging?" Faith tried, then shook her head. "No... " She shrugged. "Honest? I don't know. Not usually my style." She had her usual casual and defiant air, but Dean could tell she was uncomfortable by the wariness in the back of her eyes.

"Ok. You ever figure it out, let me know?" She bit her lip, then nodded, finally. "Meanwhile - thanks," he said.

"Yah. No big." His eyes disagreed with her. She changed the subject, "So what'd O'Brien and Giambione ask?"

"Details on what happened to us. Description of the attacker. If we knew why she attacked us. If we'd made or had any enemies of that description. Usual stuff - repeated several times in variations." He looked down at himself and gave a sour laugh, "Oh - and a warning to stay in Philly until this was resolved." Faith laughed as well - not like they were going anywhere real soon.

"See what we can do about that," she said, making a mental note to call Wesley again.

"Good deal," Dean groaned, closed his eyes for a moment. "I better go back to sleep soon. The doctor gave me something for pain, and it's making me woozy." He opened his eyes again and looked at her, "Said that if I was still getting better by morning, they'd have me moved up to a room and off the critical list."

"Good bad thing? Easier to talk to you, harder to keep an eye on you and Sam," Faith said. "Good though - means you're gettin' better."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'm starting to fade out. See you if you're still here when I wake up?"

"I'll be sticking around until daylight," Faith stated. "Be back tomorrow evening after I wake up, if you don't wake up before then."

**...**

After Dean fell back asleep, she stayed by his bed until she was certain he'd fallen asleep rather than back into unconciousness. (To be honest, she stayed until an ICU nurse chased her out - but she was doing her best to avoid noticing that or thinking about it. Same way she was avoiding thinking about the 'Why are you doing all this?' question: not ready to deal with it at the moment.)

Back in her chair in the tiny waiting area, she settled in with a view of the ICU doors again and sprawled back into her chair, one leg crossed over her knee. After giving it some thought, she pulled out her cell and dialed Wes. Wesley's personal number, not his office one.

"Hello?"

"Heya, Wes?"

"Faith. Good morning," Wes' voice was dry.

"Oopsie. Did I wake you up?"

"No, no. Haven't gone to bed yet. What's up?" Faith paused a few moments, sorting things out in her mind. "Faith?"

"Still here, Watcher-man. Just thinking things out before I answer that," she said. "And don't say 'that's a first' or nuthin', hear?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Wesley chuckled. "What's on your mind?"

"Hrrm. Couple of things... " Faith frowned to herself. "One: hate to even ask, but I am going to need that lawyer for my friends."

"All right. I'll get Angel to start things working as soon as possible. What are your friend's names and where can they be located? In jail?"

"No: Philadelphia General," she gave him the room number. "And their names are Dean and Sam Winchester. Local Major Crimes detective named O'Brien is interested in them for weapons charges: seems they had a pretty good sized arsenal in their trunk - boot - when they got themselves trashed and the cops got called in." She scowled again, glad Wes couldn't see it. She'd wanted to keep Sam and Dean's names out of both Wolfram and Hart's and the IWC's interest. Now it looked like she wasn't going to be able to manage that.

"All right," she heard keys clicking while she related the information. "Any idea what sort of weapons charges?"

"No idea: O'Brien didn't say, and Dean was still groggy when he came out of it briefly. It matter?"

"It could," Wesley mused. "Local charges are a lot easier to deal with than if it becomes a BATFE matter. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives," he elaborated for Faith's benefit.

"Yeah, the BATFU. I'm familiar with the term, Wes." Faith snickered. "No idea. Probably local: I think O'Brien's more interested in having leverage to get them to talk to him if needed than in sending them to the crowbars."

"Ah. That may make a difference. I'll make sure that whoever is contracted knows to tread carefully," Wes stated.

"Yah. O'Brien seems to be a good guy basically - and you can't believe how weird it sounds to hear myself saying that about a cop - but my read is that he can be a major hard ass if someone puts his back up." Faith paused, "Please don't piss him off too much. I'm going to have to deal with him, if nothing else. Gonna be a lot easier if he's not an enemy."

"Yes, quite." Wesley cleared his throat, and she heard drinking sounds over the connection. "I'll make sure whoever comes is briefed on that. The other thing?"

"Think I have a line on my assassin, if the idiot that gave it to me wasn't lying." At Wes' curious noise Faith described the fight outside the parking garage and related the information she'd gleaned.

"Hrrm. Nice work," Wesley said in a distracted tone. Obviously thinking.

"Not nice enough. I don't think I iced the bitch," Faith stated.

"You did survive the encounter, however."

"Naw. She wasn't trying. She wanted me dead, the first bolt would have killed me, instincts or no." Faith said, "She was getting my attention again. Gettin' old, Wes, but I hope she keeps working on that theme: I can use it against her." She paused, "Her name ring any bells for you?"

"Hrrm. No... that's what I was thinking about. I'll have to check into it," he said. "Sorry... but we haven't had a real reason to pay much attention to that breed of vampire. They're no more common in LA than they were at the Hellmouth."

"S'allright. Let me know if you find anything? I'll run it past a couple of my other contacts also - quietly."

"Of course. Hrrmm... Winchester, you said?" Wesley's voice was thoughtful, "Any relation to a 'John Winchester', by chance?"

Faith paused for a moment, debating, then said, "Sons of. You know about the Winchesters?"

"Yes. John Winchester is/was a private demon hunter and amateur supernatural scholar of some repute, before he vanished following his wife's death. The old Watcher's Council attempted to recruit him at one time... however, they were turned down by him." Wesley said. "I believe they'd had intentions of attempting to recruit the sons when they came of age, however... "

"However, the First Evil blew the Old Council all to the lower hells where they belonged before they got around to it," Faith's voice was dry. "And people say that no good ever comes of Pure Evil," she snickered.

"Now... I know that you of all people have no reason to be charitable towards the Council, Faith. However... they weren't all unmitigated bastards." Wesley said. Considering that Wes knew exactly why Faith had no love lost for the old Watchers - and had even been a part of some of the reasons - she had to give him props for having a pair. And for having the ethics to defend the few of them that had been worth a damn, in spite of knowing her feelings on it.

"Wes... even the few that were worth a shit, like you, Giles, and Diana knew what unmitigated bastards the rest were, and what they were doing - and you all looked the other way." Faith didn't mention that Wes had gone along with the Council's snatch-and-wetworks team's attempt to kidnap her back to England to be terminated. Old and bloody ground between them, and Wesley had more than made up for past sins when he'd helped defend her against another wetwork's team even after she'd tortured him. All debts put paid to, and it was done and did.

"Yes. And there's not a day that goes by that I don't regret being a part to those things, or regret looking away... " his voice was quiet, and he seemed to be searching for more words when it trailed off.

"I know," her voice was soft. "It's done and did, Wes. Tell you what: I'll try and not dance on their graves in front of you. You try and overlook the fact that I ain't gonna shed one single tear over them being blown to hell. Deal?"

"Ha. Deal."

"Good." Faith nodded, even knowing he couldn't see the gesture. "It's done past, and I don't want it between us, Watcher-man."

"It isn't. Not on my part, anyway." Wesley cleared his throat and changed the subject, "Are you going to bring the Winchester boys to the attentions of the New Council?"

"Hrrrm. There's a thought," Faith frowned. "Hadn't thought about it, really... " She paused. "Maybe. Giles could use people like them to rebuild with. Question is: do Dean and Sam need the New Council and some of their politics in their lives? Dunno.. " Faith trailed off.

"Well, that's not a decision I have to make, thank gods." Wesley chuckled. Faith knew that he'd turned down Giles' offer to be a part of helping to rebuild the Council. She'd never asked him why. "I'm quite certain you'll think it through and make the right decision."

"Really?" Her voice sounded surprised, even to herself.

"Yes, really." Wesley didn't elaborate.

"Maybe. Thanks." Faith shook her head, "Think I'll suggest it to Dean and Sam when they're better - if they survive this - and let them choose. Not my business to choose for them."

"See? I knew you'd make the right choices. I had Faith." Wes' voice was amused.

"Smart ass." She said, snickering, and he laughed. "Let's worry about surviving this, and let the rest fall where it will, hey?"

"Quite."

They chatted for a bit longer, and then she clicked off and closed her phone and put it away. She spent the rest of the night alternating between watching the ICU doorways, catnapping in her chair, hospital patrols, and looking down at Dean in his sleep, thinking. It was just after daylight when she left and she left the hospital by a different exit than she'd entered it, took a different route back to her hotel, and parked in a different location.

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep in spite of the circles her mind kept wandering in.

**...**

At Rimbault's bar late that night, O'Brien flipped through the transcripts of what had been gleaned from analysis of the ER security tapes. Full squad was there tonight, plus Hogan and Kirkwood: along with the Philadelphia Special Victims Unit detectives, Christine and Stevie had finally put 'Closed' to the serial rapist case they'd been working and Major Cases had had a small celebration for them earlier. That it had been put closed to with the death of the rapist didn't exactly bother anyone on the squad, nor in SVU.

Giambione read through a section of his copy of the transcript and smirked, "Brilliant of Stevie to come up with the idea of getting a lip reader in to consult on those tapes, eh wot, Holmes?"

Detective Brody snickered. "Actually it was your idea, Frank. But I will take the credit for it and the resulting promotion."

"Hey! O'Brien promised _me_ that promotion," Giambione sulked, then grinned. "Still, good work. You were the one that followed up on it."

Lieutenant Hogan ignored the byplay and looked at the blonde detective, "Looks like this confirms your read on the situation, Christine. Those two are definitely not friends, and it looks like LeHane was moving to put herself between Obie and Frank and the blonde."

"Gaps there where the mouths weren't visible or were at the wrong angles, but... yeah." Christine nodded.

"So... " O'Brien pursed his lips and scowled. "We have a contract killer - apparently an inhumanly strong and fast one - with a hardon for LeHane who used the Winchester brothers to get her attention, according to this."

"If you want to buy what blondie is reportedly saying there, we do," Colby Burns threw in.

"Think she's lying?" Frank raised his eyebrows.

"Huh. Can't see any reason for her to. Can't rule it out." Colby shook his head.

"Well... if you want to assume she figured that you might transcribe the conversation off the tapes, she could have planted it whole cloth," Kirkwood threw in, then frowned. "That's getting pretty Machiavellian."

"Serial killers have been known to get just that clever and elaborate," O'Brien observed, making a face.

"Some of this other stuff... " Carson was shaking his head. "Slayer? Death Dealer? Ghouls, thralls... familiars? Vampire? Sounds insane enough. What the hell do we have on our hands here?"

"Heh. Insane compared to a blonde fast enough to disappear visually, strong enough to trash two people and a motel room, and fanged bite wounds on people's necks?" Giambione snickered. Carson balled up a napkin and threw it at him, then shot him the finger, laughing.

"Don't know," O'Brien said, "But I think it'll get more so before it gets less insane. Just a hunch."

"So. In the interests of gathering information for the future column on this that I'll never write and the Eagle will never publish," Tom Kirkwood paused a moment for the snickering to die down, "Is LeHane a good guy or a bad guy in this?"

"Both? Neither? Quien sabe?" O'Brien shrugged. "Maybe not a 'Good Guy' quote unquote, but my read is still not the Bad Guy. I don't think the Winchester brothers are either - although I am going to throw the fear of O'Brien into them for being stupid enough to run around the country with an illegal arsenal in their trunk. I'm going to run with that instinct until proven otherwise, anyway."

Hogan nodded at him, "All right. What's your plans?"

"Still the same," O'Brien shrugged. "The known trustworthy members of Patrol and Traffic we've distributed the stills of the blonde to haven't spotted her anywhere. So we cover the Winchesters as best we can in case she tries again. Watch LeHane and see what she does - and try to keep her alive, if we can. Wait and watch until something breaks, and hope the 'something' that gets broken isn't us."

"Works," Hogan nodded again, looking thoughtful. "Speaking of watch and wait, did you get anything on that cop that was asking about the Winchesters? The one that LeHane called out to Colby?"

O'Brien made a sour face, "He's an FBI agent. That's about it - he pulled the Feebie 'FBI business is not your jurisdiction' routine on me and Frank when we braced him. Special Agent Hagerman."

"What's the local Bureau have to say on him?" Hogan gave him a sharp look, his curiosity aroused.

"Nadda, zip, nadda," Frank stated. "They just reiterated the 'The Agency prefers not to discuss ongoing agency business with yata yata' bit."

Colby Burns gave Giambione an amused look, "Think maybe they still irritated that you threw one of their agents off of a roof two years ago?"

"Hey! It was only a one story roof!"

"Yeah, but he landed on his head, Frank," Stevie observed.

"I was being nice." Giambione smirked, "I aimed him so he wouldn't damage any vital organs." Stevie snickered.

O'Brien hid a smile and shook his head, "Hagerman hasn't been around again that we've seen, not since Frank and I braced him. Too bad - I'd like to see him step over the lines in my precinct so we could shake him real hard and see what falls out."

"Have Frank throw him off of a roof?" Kirkwood asked.

"Not a low one," O'Brien said, grinning. "Hagerman annoys me."

"All right people," Hogan broke up the discussion there. "Run with it for now. Don't let it get in the way of the regular case load."

Hogan stayed behind after the meeting broke up, ostensibly to help O'Brien clean up after themselves before Nikki came in in the morning. "How sure are you about this girl, Obie? You seem to be taking a lot on faith there, pardon the pun."

"How sure am I that she's not playing me? Or that I'm not reading something there that isn't?" O'Brien gave his old friend a shrug. "I'm not certain at all. It's the risk you run."

"Yeah... " Hogan shook his head. "You know she could be feeding you what you want to hear. I know that you're as frustrated as everyone else with the various 'weird' killings that have been stacking up in this city and looking hard for a solution."

"It'd be a bit hard for her to do that, Paul, considering that I don't have any 'what I want to hear'," O'Brien's voice was amused. He looked seriously at his friend and former partner. "I'm not going by her record, I'm going by what I see and what she says and does now, and my instincts."

Hogan snorted, shaking his head. "Her record's not influencing at all? Maybe it should, Obie."

"Maybe. Maybe not." O'Brien leaned against the bar. "If you looked hard at my record and didn't know me as well as you do, would it tell you that on three occasions in the past five years I've deliberately provoked known bad guys into drawing on me so I could kill them, knowing that they were guilty and that we couldn't convict them for it? Four in twenty if you count that gun smuggler back in the late 80's." O'Brien grinned. "All righteous shoots according to IAD. But you and I both know that it was judge, jury, and street execution. I set them up and pushed them into pulling a gun so I could kill them legally because they were dirty, stone killers, and the courts would never do it. By any 'rules' you care to name, that makes me a murderer four times over." He shook his head, "The records don't show you what someone is. They don't even show you what they've _done_ always. You know it as well as I do."

"Yeah," Hogan looked away. "Be damned careful you don't ever say what you just did anywhere outside of Nikki's. Or to anyone except me or Frank."

"Ha. I'm not stupid enough to want to spend my retirement in Maximum Security," O'Brien laughed. "Point is... I'm not reading LeHane as a bad guy, and I've got thirty plus years on the force to draw on to judge by. Maybe she was one once... but she doesn't come off that way now."

He paused, gathering his thoughts to try and articulate them, then added, "I do read her as someone who'll go beyond the rules and do whatever it takes to get something done if she thinks it's _right_. 'Legal' be damned. And that may be just what we need to get a handle on this city again so we don't have to flush it down the toilet."

Hogan made an exasperated sound. "Hope you're right, Obie. I don't want to have to find you tortured to death with broken glass, eh?"

"I'm kind of not looking forward to that either. I'll watch my back."


	8. Chapter 8: And at your age, too

**Chapter 8: _"An idealistic one, and at your age, too..."_**

(Day 5; _Tuesday, December 9, 2003_)

Morning came early for her but she was well rested in spite of the two hours sleep. Catnapping in that chair hadn't been the most comfortable thing, but it had helped recharge the batteries. Slayers didn't need much sleep over all, and she'd noticed for a long time that she was more than capable of getting by on a maximum of four hours a night as long as she wasn't injured - or even going without completely for days at a time when needed, as long as she got a chance to pass out for eight to twelve hours afterwards. She did enjoy getting a full eight to ten hours when she could... but it was a luxury, not a necessity.

She had breakfast from room service while making plans for the day. The long thinking periods of the night before had evidently led to her mind sorting some things out while she slept. She still didn't have a plan, exactly, but she did have things she could do to kill time while she was waiting for things to settle to where she could start going on the offensive rather than merely watching over Dean and his brother and letting the vampire bitch simmer.

Her phone went off while she was flipping through the Philly phone book looking up a few places she was interested in. After glancing at the call ID, she grinned and answered it.

"Mini-B. What's up?"

"Hey, Faith." Dawn's voice sounded bleary but cheerful. "Before morning classes and still trying to wake up. Thought I'd give you a ring while I had time."

"Cool. I'm just sitting here digesting."

"Located a healer for you in the area, if you're still interested?"

"Really?" Faith straightened in her chair. "Wow. Thanks, Dawnie... got a name and number for me?"

"Yup. Of course," came the answer in a pained voice. Faith grinned as she could almost hear Dawn not rolling her eyes at the suggestion that she was sloppy enough to call without that information. "Here you go:" Dawn gave her the info and Faith jotted it down in her laptop. She'd transfer the number to her phone before heading out for the day.

"Coolness. I'll give her a shout this afternoon."

"Hope it helps. She's not really affiliated with the IWC, so she should keep whatever you have going under her hat," Dawn said. "I know you really don't want the Council into your business any more... "

"Yah. Thanks," Faith said. She had a thought, "That going to cause you any problems with B or Giles?"

"If it does, I'll deal with it." Dawn said, sighing. "They're going to have to get used to the idea that I have friends and a life outside of the IWC, sooner or later. And that you're one of them."

"Good luck on that," Faith said in a sour tone. "I don't want to cause you any issues."

"Any issues there are, aren't yours, Faith." Dawn laughed softly. "I'll deal."

"Thanks, kiddo," Faith's voice went soft for a moment. "Hey - I'm kind of having a full plate here. Can I get you to check into something for me?"

"Sure. Something on your pointy teeth issues?" Dawn asked, "Hold a moment while I open my laptop to make notes."

"Naw. Something different that I haven't been able to get around to because of the points thing," she replied. "Can you look up a couple of schools for me, and find out what the requirements are and costs etc? And when they have courses available?"

"No problem. You're going back to school?" Dawn's voice sounded approving.

"Not quite. Different type of schools," Faith gave her the names and locations.

"Hrrmm. Guns, Faith?" Dawn's voice had a faint disapproving tone to it now.

"Sound of me shrugging, Dawnie. I know B doesn't like them, but I'm not Buffy. And not every place in the world is as retarded on the subject of firearms as California and Europe." Faith's voice went slightly flat, "No big. You don't want to check into it for me, I'll do it myself when I get time."

"Whoa - hold on girl," Dawn said. "Peace. Just surprised, that's all. You know that guns aren't much use against vampires and demons, right?"

"You might be surprised. It's not the firearm that's the issue: it's what you shoot out of it, and there's ways around that," she said. "Remind me to send you some information on the topic sometime, when I can get it all together. Better yet - suggest to Vi that she talk weapons with Hannibal King next time he comes up with Abby."

"All right. I'll try to keep an open mind," Dawn said.

Cool," Faith said. "Figure if I'm going to get into it, I want to know what I'm doing. Professional training's the best way to do that."

"Yeah. Ok... I can see that," Dawn replied. "I have to get to class. I'll look this up for you later and see what I find, ok?"

"Thanks No hurry - I'm kinda tied up right now," Faith laughed. "This is kind of a future reference thing, yanno?"

"Yup. Talk to you later?"

Faith agreed she would and then hung up. After a quick shower and getting dressed, she grabbed her gear bag and headed out.

**...**

One of the oddities she'd discovered in the bit of internet checking she had had time for was that while you had to be 21 to purchase a handgun (or presumably to get a concealed carry permit - she hadn't gotten that far yet), you only had to be 18 to purchase a rifle or shotgun. Likewise, the 21 restriction didn't seem to apply to ammunition. Idiotic laws, in her opinion: sure, a handgun was easier to conceal, but a rifle had longer range and a LOT more penetration and damage. Hadn't taken more than a brief period of Hannibal's weapons instruction for her to grasp that. And if someone wasn't trustworthy with a firearm by the time they were eighteen (or sixteen, for that matter), three years wasn't going to make them more so at twenty-one.

_'Busy work to make politicians look like they're doing something useful and to impress voters,'_ was the (entirely accurate) conclusion she came to. She snorted under her breath, _'The fucking way of things. Pass shit you can sell to the clueless and get votes - whether it actually makes any sense is irrelevant.'_

While she did have ID saying she was twenty-one - and good stuff, too: it and the background for it had been created by Willow - she didn't want to use it for something like this and have it come up on some database check that she was breaking firearms laws. She was going to be running enough risk just carrying a pistol to deal with her vampire problem, but that couldn't be helped. No more risk than she normally ran carry twenty plus pounds of cold steel on her while hunting, but still...

It took her five stops to locate the amount of 10mm Auto ammo she'd been looking for in the right bullet weights and loadings: she'd wanted to stick with Hannibal's recommendations for what would match up the closest with the sundog rounds for practice. She didn't locate enough .45 Winchester magnum, no more than 200 rounds or so - evidently that was a rare enough caliber to make ammunition a special order item. .454 Cashull for the big Keith single action was a different story. Evidentially that was a popular enough round that everyone had it: she was able to pick up almost 1500 rounds in the weights she was looking for at the five places.

She found it bemusing that the gun store counter clerks didn't even blink or raise an eyebrow at the amount of ammunition at any of the stores. When she saw a fellow who looked like an accountant at the last stop buying 10,000 rounds of .45 Auto for a weekends worth of shooting, she figured out why.

One store had a pretty decent selection of leather gear, and she found a behind the back rig for the Kimber 10mm. Adding an El Paso Saddlery Holliday style shoulder holster and a Duke style gun belt and holster for the single action rounded out her interests from what she could see available... she figured she might have to go custom to get something to fit the Grizzly and the big Whildey. No big: that's what the internet was for, once she had a place they could get shipped to.

Faith did manage to spend an enjoyable hour at the shop with the leather gear in an informative conversation with the guys behind the rifle counter, after a couple of items caught her eye. They were intrigued by the small, attractive brunette being interested in the .50 Beowulf rifles and 12 gauge shotguns in their selection; and she was intrigued by the opportunity to soak up information from their knowledge base. She lost interest only when she discovered that to their regret, state and federal laws didn't allow them to sell to New York or other out of state residents. Yet another case of politicians mucking about in business that wasn't theirs, both she and they agreed. Faith wandered off regretfully, promising to come back once she settled into a Pennsylvania residence - something she had no intention of doing. Not a bad state... but she was starting to get as thoroughly sick of the East Coast and its idiocies as she had of the West Coast.

She paid for everything with cash drawn out on her personal debit card and did notice that what _did_ raise an eyebrow was her storing 500 rounds of .454 in her gear bag and hoisting the strap to her shoulder with no apparent effort. Even though she knew it wasn't the case, she could almost swear she heard the extra-dimensional space in the bag groaning under the load.

Personal card for this stuff, definitely. While she figured it wasn't out of bounds for the IWC to track what she did with the company credit cards she still had... if they started tracking what she did with her personal accounts for whatever reason, she wasn't going to have any compunctions at all about spending the cash it took to have a lawyer slap them with an invasion of privacy suit as an object 'stay the fuck outta my personal business' lesson.

Faith figured that that was a major step up in itself from her old self. The Faith of several years ago would have delivered a message like that at sword point.

By the time she'd finished her shopping, it was too late to do much more at the range she'd picked out than fire a couple of hundred rounds from the Kimber slow-fire if she wanted to get back to her hotel in time to grab a quick workout and do other stuff before leaving before dark for the hotel. Faith wasn't planning on giving her vampire playmate any free after dark shots at her until she was ready to provoke the confrontation. Faith grinned maliciously. The frustration would be good for the bitch. She wanted to come after Faith in the daylight, she'd have to send a familiar.

One thing she was curious to note was that once the routine of 'sight picture, breath control, and trigger squeeze' began to settle into her muscle memory, the slayer abilities to acquire new weapons did seem to come into play. Her groupings still weren't where she wanted them to be - in the neat little 3" rapid-fire clusters King or Abbey could manage - but they were a marked improvement over the 'spread all over the target' groups she'd managed when she was first learning. She figured that by the time she'd worked her way through the ammo she'd bought she might just be at the point where she would feel comfortable actually using a handgun for serious social encounters.

Her cell went off while she was breaking for a quick early lunch before heading back to the Marriott. Her council phone, rather than her personal cell. She frowned at the number on the display, and answered it.

"G-Man, s'me. What's up?"

"Other than wishing you hadn't picked up that annoying nickname Xander coined for me?" Giles' voice sounded pained.

Faith snickered, "Yeah, aside from that."

"I believe that Vi had mentioned to you that we might on occasion have some contract work for you, assuming you're interested?" Giles' voice sounded tired.

"Yeah. Cool with me - why?" Faith's interest sharpened.

"I believe that I may have something for you, if you're not tied up at the moment," he said.

"Hrrm. Maybe... depends on what and where. Am in the middle of some personal business that's going to be hard to shake loose from," Faith stated. "Tell me what's the what, and I'll let you know if it's a can do."

"Hrrrm. If my skills at deciphering American idioms haven't deserted me, I think I may have even understood that," Giles said in a dry tone. Faith snickered again. "It involves doing basically the same as you were before: locating a newly found Awakened and filling her in on her abilities, the IWC and schools, and her new status."

"Where? And do you have any kind of a line on her, or is this a hunt-and-seek thing?"

"Philadelphia area," Giles stated. "And we do have a name and vague description, however it's not an uncommon name. Nor an uncommon description." He paused for a moment, "There are several possibles with that name and description in Philadelphia. However, your ability to sense other slayer when you're near them should help you to narrow down or rule out the non-Awakeneds. It's a rare trait: anyone else would need a magical detector to do the same."

Faith blinked. Being able to sense 'slayerness' in another slayer was a rare ability for them? She knew that B couldn't, or at least not to the degree that she could... but her demon/vampire sense had always been stronger than Buffy's too. Just as Buffy's slayer strength and ability to pick up martial/weapon skills quickly had always been stronger than Faith's. She'd noticed that a lot of the newly Awakeneds couldn't sense other slayers at all... but some, such as Abby, could. Faith had never thought about it enough to ask Giles or Wesley about disparate abilities. (And to be honest, with her and B being the only slayers up until the First Evil and Willow's spell, there hadn't been much point - they had a limited pool to compare notes on.)

"Hrrm. You're possibly in luck. I'm in Philly at the moment," Faith informed him, hoping this wasn't a round-a-bout way of finding out where she was. Probably not - if they needed to locate her, Giles could always have Willow do it. "How much does it pay?" She could imagine him frowning over that on the other end. Too bad: if he expected "freelance" to include "free" as a pay scale, it was time for disillusionment.

Giles named a figure.

Faith snorted, "Quadruple that, and cover my expenses. I could make more in a night shaking down local demon bars."

"I do hope you're not moonlighting as a protection racketeer, Faith," Giles' voice was dry.

"No, but thank you ever so much for the confidence," Faith grinned as Giles made an ahem sound. "Not my style any more. I don't look the other way while things hunt people, not for love nor money. And that wasn't a yes/no answer."

"Quite. Very well, I'll triple the offer. You still have your council credit card for expenses," Giles countered.

"Credit card is a retainer, unless I abuse it. It buys you first refusal on any projects you have available. Triple, and you cover my hotel stay and expenses for however long it takes me to locate this girl," she stated. "It'll cost you more in the long run to have someone else who knows what they're doing get down here and for you to cover whatever you had to drag them off from. Cost you more in valuable time if you have to do it yourself."

"Double, and hotel and expenses."

"Heh. Good luck on finding someone to send down for that thing, G. I'll try to stay out of their way if they stay outta mine. Call me on the next thing you have available," Faith's voice was amused.

"Oh, very well. Agreed. Submit your expenses afterwards - I'll have the payment transferred to you," Giles sounded exasperated, and... pleased? Huh. "I didn't realize you had such a fully developed mercenary streak, Faith."

snicker "Girl's gotta eat, Giles," Faith responded. "'Sides - if I had a mercenary streak, I'd have _sold_ you the vampire information I transferred to Vi and Dawn earlier, rather than dropping it on them as a freebie. But I am not going to short sell myself. You yourself said that I was good at finding new slayers and talking to them. You really _want_ my skills at that, then we work out a fair rate that we _both_ agree on."

"Quite. Although we may have different ideas at times at what constitutes a 'fair rate'," Giles said.

"No worries. I don't mind bargaining. As long as you don't mind that there's a point I won't go below, and things I won't do." Faith paused, thinking, "Tell you what: I'll discount to double and a half in exchange for some information that's useful to me. Your files and contacts might have an easier time turning it up for me."

"Oh? What is it? I'll certainly see what I can do." Giles said, then, "Faith. It is not necessary for you to bargain for information from the Council, regardless of what other arrangements we may work out."

"Yeah... I like paying my own way though, Giles."

"Look at it this way then: the information and files you've already given to us earlier is an even exchange. We don't need to discount your other contract for it," Giles' voice was firm.

"Huh." Faith thought about that for a moment, then said, "Suits. Ok... who can you think of that would have an outstanding contract on me? As in an assassination contract?"

"Good lord," Giles said, pausing. She pictured him having a sudden glasses cleaning attack and grinned. After a moment, he said, "Wolfram and Hart comes to mind. And the Old Watcher's Council. However... the latter doesn't seem likely to still be outstanding at this point."

"Yeah. And Angel got the old one from W&H canceled... "

"Hrrrmm," Giles sounded dubious on that, but didn't say anything further. Probably not wanting to rekindle their previous arguments on the subject. "Nothing else comes to mind, I'm afraid. I will certainly check into it, however."

"Thanks," she said. "Appreciate it."

"Is there anything you can tell me that would help to narrow things down?"

Faith's turn to pause while thinking. "No... not really. Nothing solid, and anything I might guess at might aim you in the wrong directions. If this was easy... I could track it through my other connections."

"Very well," he sounded dubious on that, also. "I'll see what can be turned up. be careful, Faith."

"I will." Faith said. "Email me the info you have on the new slayer lead and I'll plug in when I get back to my hotel, and work that in around what I'm doing here."

Giles muttered something regarding his feelings on the infernal contraption and email, and then asked, "Do you mind if I ask what it is that you're involved in currently?"

"I don't mind at all if you ask," Faith said. She let the silence stretch until she figured that he was about to ask, then said: "Probably won't give you an answer, though. Not unless it turns out to be something that affects you or the IWC. Fair enough?"

"Hrrmmm," Giles' voice was definitely not approving of that. "I shall point out that if you're involved in something that has a contract on you coming to your attention, it begins to be IWC business if only from the perspective that said contract may also include Buffy or some of the other slayers."

"I'm tempted to say 'Huh?' just to screw with you," she laughed, "But I won't. Yeah... I thought of that. I also know that you're smart enough to sort that out just from listening between the lines of what I did tell you, and know I meant for you to." Faith paused, frowning, "If it turns out that someone is making unexpected assassination attempts on Buffy or any of the others, then you're right and we'll have to put our heads together on this. If someone had, then you'd have mentioned it when I brought it up - and you didn't." She waited to see if he'd disagree with that.

He didn't, "No. Nothing that would indicate any interest in those areas, not upon Buffy nor anyone else. Nothing outside of normal demonic interests."

"Right. And you, Dawn, and Buff would be the prime targets," Faith said, nodding. "Since not... then it's my business and I'll settle it. I think you're smart enough to warn Buffy to keep her eyes open just in case."

There was a long silence on the other end. Finally Giles said, "Very well." He cleared his throat and added, "I believe at some point we shall need to have a long talk and settle just what areas fall into your personal business and which fall into the business of the Watcher's Council, however."

Faith considered that. "You're right. But not right this minute," she agreed. She laughed, softly, "Should be an interesting discussion, one way or the other." After a pause, she added, "Giles... "

"Yes?"

"I don't care if you believe me on this, but it's level," Faith said. "I'm not going to do anything that would harm B, Dawnie, Xander, you, or the IWC. Period. And I'm not going to let anything else harm you guys." She paused, "My wanting my privacy and my business to stay mine now that I'm quit doesn't change that, and it doesn't make it not so."

She cut the connection and finished her meal, thinking the conversation through while she ate. Giles was right: she and the IWC were definitely going to have to set and agree upon some boundaries, now that she was no longer working for or associated with them except on a contract basis. Faith wasn't really looking forward to that - she had the distinct feeling that her idea of 'acceptable boundaries' and Giles and Buffy's ideas were going to be worlds apart from each other. And that was an area she had limited interest in compromising on...

In spite of her confident front during the conversation, Faith still found discussions with Giles... unsettling. There was a big part of her that found it hard to hear his voice - much less see him - without flashing back to her early days in Sunnydale when she'd wanted desperately to find a place there among Buffy's friends and Watcher. And in Buffy's life. Large parts of her that still weren't far enough removed from the crazed, scared girl who kept finding herself shut out no matter what she did, it seemed, or no matter how hard she tried. Betrayed... and ultimately turning on them in her own rage and pain.

Figuring out how to set real boundaries there now that didn't involve violence, reflexive rebellion, and pain - adult boundaries - wasn't easy. _'Nineteen years old, goin' on twenty, and most of the time adult is the last thing I feel,'_ she reflected sourly. _'Growing up fast doesn't mean I ever grew up. Too big a part of me still wants someone to take care of stuff and just aim me at things. I hear Giles' voice and revert right back to that.'_

Wes was right: she had definite... _issues_ with Watchers, boundaries, and trust. Issues that weren't going to go away easily, or soon. It didn't occur to her to wonder why _Wesley_ didn't bring up the same instinctive reactions or feelings.

Faith shook her head, dismissing the IWC from her mind for the moment. That was a problem for the future: she had enough to deal with for now. She picked the number Dawn had given her for the healer off of her contacts list and dialed it. After introductions and a short bit of conversation, she arranged to meet with the woman at the hospital later, ending with:

"He's still in ICU, so we may have to wait until he gets moved to a room," Faith suggested. "Kinda doubt the hospital staff has enough 'Sunnydale blindness' to overlook mystical diagrams, candles, and burning herbs in the Intensive Care ward, yanno?"

The other woman laughed. "It may not require that elaborate a ritual, if any. I need to take a look at him and an aura reading before I'll know what's required - that's all we'll be doing initially."

"Cool. I'll call you when I get there and we can work out a time. Gonna be a busy day and night for me." Faith cut the connection, feeling a bit better than she had after the conversation with Giles. At least something was looking up a bit.

**...**

Back at her room, she checked her indicators and found no sign that anyone had been in her room while she was gone. She hooked up her laptop and set it to check her email periodically so it would catch Giles' information package. After a quick workout, she sluiced off in the shower and had a snack and some coffee sent up while she spent the rest of the afternoon noodling around on her guitar and thinking things through. By mid-afternoon, she was pretty certain that what she had running around in the back of her mind didn't quite qualify as a plan, necessarily, but it had definite possibilities.

Figuring out the best way to bring it about and put it into action was a problem. Especially with having 'not getting dead' and 'not getting turned' being critical elements, from her point of view at least. She did have a few ideas - she was hesitant to call it 'inspiration', exactly - that might work...

Turning those ideas around in her mind's eye and examining them from several angles, she decided they were as good as she was going to get for the moment, and took out her cell phone.

The first call to Abby was pretty quick: it didn't take much to get the concept across followed by an evil sounding snicker from the other girl and a _"Can do, I'll talk to Blade if you'll work out the other end"_ response.

The second one, to Vi, took a bit more explanation and a bit of argument - argument mostly centered around convincing Vi not to bring three quarters of New York 'Slayer Central' down to Philly in force. New York must be reasonably quiet, Faith reflected. Both women had sounded bored and itchy for action. Faith knew the feeling, all too well.

Final short call, to Vince, confirmed a few things for her. It also got a truly evil chuckle from the demonic mobster when she explained what she had in mind...

A sound from the front of the suite caught her attention finally after she'd clicked off and brought her out of her thoughts, suddenly alert.

_'Hrmmm. Someone knocking?'_ Faith frowned. She doubted seriously the blond vampire would knock, but you never knew for sure. And she hadn't ordered room service since she'd had coffee sent up almost an hour ago. She went to the door and asked "Who's there?" Standing carefully a bit to one side and back, just in case.

"Detective O'Brien."

Huh. Ok... now that was interesting. "Hang loose - you caught me in the john and I need to finish up." Lame, yeah, but it got her a couple of minutes. She went back to her room and slid sword and pistol into her bag out of sight where they wouldn't be found, and stopped to flush the toilet and run some water for a few seconds before going back to the door.

She opened the door a crack and looked out. Yup, the man hisself, and all alone, apparently. "Hey, Five-oh," Faith grinned out the door and up at him. "You think up some more questions for me?"

He laughed, "Lots. But I don't want to get your man eating lawyers all riled up." He gave her a wry grin, "You got me all intimidated the other night."

"I'll bet. You look easily intimidated. It must be a handicap for a cop."

"It is. People walk all over me," he nodded.

"I'll just bet they do," her voice was dripping sarcasm and amusement. "So, if there's no questions you're going to ask, what can I do for you, Mr. De-tec-a-tive Kevin O'Brien?" She gave him a curious look.

He shrugged, "I'm wending my way back up to the hospital here in a bit to see if the Winchester brothers have anything further to say. It occurred to me that you might want to know that Dean's been moved to a private room." She nodded, and he met her eyes evenly, "It also occurred to me if you're going back there, it might help if I vouch for you with the hospital staff so you won't have to continue to lie your way past the nurses and doctors."

"Huh." She gave him a speculative look, "You're going to ruin my normally sour view of police officers. If this is an attempt to butter me up so I'll look favorably on you - it's working."

"Departmental public relations. It's bad for morale when nineteen year old street urchins think we're all scum," he replied gravely.

Faith shook her head, undecided between exasperation and amusement. "Well, I hope you're not in a major hurry. I'm planning to finish my coffee first." She held the door open and stepped back and aside, not making any invitation gestures. O'Brien raised an eyebrow and stepped in, closing the door behind himself. "Cool - and that's not an invitation to any unauthorized searches, either." She grinned.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Coffee?" She indicated the extra cup and he nodded. Faith frowned at the door, "You seem to be missing an appendage."

"Frank? He's following up on something else right now," O'Brien gave her a sour look. "Opinions to the contrary, we're not attached at the hip."

"But he looks so _natural_ there," she grinned, and he found himself grinning back. He gave a curious look around the small suite, and through the open door into the bedroom.

"Not many personal items," he noted.

"Ever try traveling much on a bike?" Faith raised an eyebrow. "They don't come much for luggage space, that I've noticed. Saddlebags, gearbag, and box for the rack, and that's about all she wrote. Long coat gets worn, or rolled up and stowed behind the saddle if I'm wearing the short one. Everything else better fit inside one of them or the built on panniers. Guitar case goes on the strap across my back." She shook her head, "Luckily, I'm not a big clothes hog. I travel pretty light."

"Ah. No, I can't say I've done much with motorcycles. Especially not long distance." He frowned, "Winter... ?"

"Doesn't it get awful cold? Ha - I hear that a lot." She grinned. "All I'm going to say is: thank gods for thermal underoos."

O'Brien snickered, "Ok, I can see that. I'll try and avoid the obvious everyone-asks questions from now on." She nodded and refilled both of their cups. Rested her chin on her hands and studied him curiously.

"Ok. I'm ruling out your using your badge to have designs on my hot young bod. You don't seem the type." She gave him a level look, "Frank, maybe," and laughed when he grinned at that. "But I'm not quite buying the wanting to grease me past hospital security out of the goodness of your heart. Besides which, they haven't been giving me all that many hassles anyway. So... ?"

"So what am I doing here? Fishing expedition, or something else?" She nodded, and he frowned. "You and your friend's 'BBQ fork incident' are giving my squad a set of interesting problems."

"Such as... ?" She held up a hand, "No, wait. Wrong order. Question is: are we on the official clock, or unofficial? And how do I know when we switch from one to the other?"

"Hmmm." O'Brien started to answer, stopped, and frowned again. "Right. Unofficial. And I'm not sure how we know when we switch. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," she nodded. "Except for the not knowing part. That's a mine field waiting for me to blow up in it."

"Right," O'Brien considered for a bit. "Ok, let's try this: you were right about the neck wounds on the Winchester brothers, and I know that according to the nurse that you didn't lift up the dressings to look. And there's no way that that little detail or anything that leads to someone who can beat two healthy and athletic young men half to death and partially drain them of blood single handedly is ever going into any official report or document out of my squadroom."

"Single handedly?" Faith lifted an eyebrow.

"One assailant. All of the marks indicate one assailant, and the same one for both brothers."

"Ah," Faith nodded, watching him. "Which leads us back to 'such as'... ?"

He nodded. "So _all_ of this is unofficial. We don't _have_ 'BBQ fork assaults' in Philadelphia, and any detectives that suggest that we do tend to find their careers sidelined. Or worse. On the other hand, my Lieutenant and I, and the other detectives in Major Cases, like closing cases even if the report has to go in the circular file after. Since our careers aren't going anywhere anyway, we like to find other things to lean on... like the fact that having an 'oral exsanguination serial killer' wandering around is a danger to the public we took oaths to work for."

"wow. An actual honest cop. And an idealistic one, at your age, too." Faith's eyes went slightly wide and she grinned. "You know, I used to hear that there was such a thing, but I've never actually seen one."

O'Brien glared at her, and opened his mouth, starting to snap something angry. Faith held her hand out forestalling him. "Peace, detective. I am not yanking your chain with that, honest." She held his eyes until he nodded abruptly, still annoyed. "If you studied what you can find on my records, as I'm pretty sure you did from what you said a few nights ago, then you know I'm not exactly normal. Even if you couldn't get into the blacked out files. Right?" He nodded.

"Ok, then," She cocked her head, considering him. "If you were yanking _my_ chain, I'd know it. I can tell when someone is lying to me. Tell me what you want, and we'll go on from there."

"Pretty simple, LeHane. I want to close this case, and I want to know that whoever or whatever attacked the Winchesters isn't still wandering around my city later picking out new victims." He gave her the level look back, "And I'd like to know that you and the Winchesters aren't a equal danger to my city."

"Good enough. I'm not, and I seriously doubt that Sam and Dean are." She glanced at the clock. "Look... it's still a few hours until dark, and if I'm right about what we're dealing with, it's not going to be a threat until after sundown. And I'm reasonably certain your detectives can deal with any normal threats." She cocked her head and gave him a speculative look. "Why don't we go down to the restaurant, and let me buy you a meal while I fill my stomach, and you can tell me everything you know so far about Sunnydale and Los Angeles around the time I escaped from prison. Then I can fill in the gaps for you a bit."

O'Brien looked around the hotel room again and frowned. Faith caught the frown and laughed, "It's not a bribe, Detective O'Brien. I'm pretty sure you can't be bought for a twelve dollar meal even if a detective's salary isn't very big."

He laughed, "No, not what I was thinking. And you never know - that twelve dollars might just make up the difference on my Mercedes payment." Faith snickered. "No... I was thinking that while this isn't the Hyatt, it's still got to be a bite out of your savings. Maybe I should buy the meals."

"An honest cop and a nice guy, too," Faith raised an eyebrow. "I'm all in shock." She shook her head, "No worries. But you are ruining my childlike belief in the godlike knowledge of the po-po. You had to have used the extralegal access that Homeland Security gives you guys to run my bank accounts and credit records when you checked me out after the other night?"

"No, I'm afraid we haven't gotten around to that yet. Obviously a lapse on my part," he said in a dry tone. "You're independently wealthy?"

She laughed. "No. Just independent. But my last job with the IWC and the New York School for Gifted Women had a generous sign-up bonus, and a decent salary and investments plan. I even kept my medical when I left. I don't think a meal at Marriott prices is going to leave me destitute and hawking my tender young bod for gas money." She grinned, "We'll get you your Mercedes payments yet, O'Brien."

"Hah. All right. One condition, though." She lifted an eyebrow. "Not the Marriott. I know an Italian place not too far from here that serves better food than anything you can get in this hotel, and it won't break your budget," O'Brien stated.

"Italian food. You hit my weak spot." Faith grinned up at him, "I may have to rethink that 'not after my hot young bod' thing." O'Brien laughed, and she added, "Wicked. Let me hit the can again to dump some of that coffee, and change real quick, and I'll follow you over there."

She heard a cell phone - not hers - going off while she was in the bathroom, and low conversation. Too low even for her ears to pick up through a closed door. When she finished up and headed back into the bedroom, she went to the connecting door into the suite and found O'Brien standing looking at his phone with a grim expression.

"Something?"

"Yeah, could say that," he replied in a sour tone. "How do you feel about joining me for a ride along before we eat? Assuming you have a strong stomach."

Faith simply nodded after seeing the bleak look in his eyes. "I'll be changed in a minute or two."


	9. Chapter 9: Amazingly, I can still eat

**Chapter 9: **_**"Amazingly, I can still eat."**_

They call it the 'cop mask'. That blank expressionlessness that's not so much lack of emotion as a way of distancing oneself from the emotions. Distancing... so you can continue to do your job when inside all you want to do is scream while your mind runs gibbering around in circles, or when you're so overcome with disgust at the things that so-called 'human beings' do to each other that the thing you want to do most is puke. Or kill something... and you can't afford to have some piece of human debris seeing that in your eyes while you're talking to them.

Kevin O'Brien had it in firmly place at the moment, looking around this... place... that call had brought them to.

Calling it a crime scene was to diminish it with the word 'crime'. But there wasn't a line on report forms for 'atrocity scene'. In thirty years as a cop... he'd never seen anything quite like this, not even at the scenes of gruesome serial murders. He could see in the eyes of the rest of the Major Case Squad that they'd never even _imagined_ something like this.

There were eight bodies sprawled out on the clear area of the floor in various contorted positions where they'd fallen in death. Shell casings all around. Piles of what looked like ash, with more shell casings around them. Bullet pocks in the walls of the big industrial warehouse - enough to mark one hell of a firefight. And behind them... Behind them row upon row of people - or what had once been people - encased between sheets of heavy mylar with tubes running into and out of them. Dozens, possibly over a hundred of them. Dark tubes into which nothing flowed in or out, and monitoring devices that no longer glowed with indicator lights, if they ever had. A shut down computer console with leads running to those dead monitoring devices.

It's not emotionlessness, it never is. But there's times that you wish that it was.

Make that _six_ corpses sprawled out on the clear area of the floor in various contorted positions where they'd fallen in death.

Two of them were still moving, even with twelve inch stainless steel spikes driven through their temples and their necks twisted at an angle that nothing natural could assume and still live. Moving from the neck up, only, sure... but moving. Eyes staring blindly at whatever their twisted heads had ended up facing, and jaws snapping open and shut with a slow rhythmic motion.

Jaws snapping open and shut full of too long and too sharp teeth. Fangs, really.

They'd walked in on the scene cold, no warnings, as O'Brien had expected. That was how Major Cases did things: so that they could measure and compare first impressions of a scene against each others, pick out things the others might have missed in their first glance over a new crime scene.

O'Brien would have appreciated some warning, just this once. Judging from the careful lack of expression and the horror behind his partner's eyes, Frank Giambione would probably have appreciated some as well.

Detective Kevin O'Brien had walked in, taken one careful look over the scene, then turned around and found a blank spot on one of the warehouse walls to stare at, fists clenched and taking deep breaths. Stared at it for a long time. And then he'd turned back around, cop mask securely in place, and carefully and deliberately given the scene and the warehouse a long, thorough, painstaking examination. Sparing himself nothing, and afterwards he'd gone back over to his squad and Tom Kirkwood, passed the word to keep everyone except Major Cases out of the place for now, and found something else to look at. Something as unsettling in its own way as this grisly... factory.

Something else like Faith LeHane.

LeHane _hadn't_ thrown up when they'd first walked in, that was the first thing he'd noticed. But she'd stopped dead just inside the doorway after taking in the entire scene, and her face had gone white and damned near bloodless, eyes wide and shocked. She'd put the edge of one fist to her mouth, almost absently, and bit down on it, hard - O'Brien had been half surprised not to see blood come out from that.

Then she'd straightened slightly and her fist went back down to her side to join the other one, and her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared slightly. And her face... shut down, and she also deliberately looked the place over thoroughly with an almost clinical detachment. Not the cop mask, but something like it, and it took O'Brien a few minutes to realized where he'd seen something like that before.

Professional combat soldiers looked like that when they'd seen a surfeit of horror and death and they had to distance from it. Remote and detached, but never quite detached enough. It always marks you.

Kevin O'Brien didn't want to think about what a nineteen year old girl might have seen to put that kind of look in the back of the eyes and that kind of skill at her disposal. And he couldn't not think about it...

She finished her study of the scene, and nodded once. Shook her head slightly and the soldier look went away and something else came up in its place. Relaxed and still with something ageless and deadly behind the eyes. That predator look that he'd seen surface briefly in their first meeting at the hospital, and on the security vids, and then hadn't seen again. Until now.

LeHane raised her head, looking over the upper levels of the warehouse, then wandered over to squat beside one of the bodies on the floor - one of the dead ones - and the weapon and scattering of cartridge casings around it. She examined it thoroughly, visually, and then put her hand over one of the casings and froze there.

Giambione went over and handed her a pen, and she nodded and smiled absently at him, taking it and using it to pick up one of he empty cases to examine. After giving it a careful scrutiny, she set it back where she'd found it - exactly where, O'Brien noticed - and moved on. She stopped at one of the other corpses, looked over the body carefully without touching it, and O'Brien saw her note the shield on the belt case.

LeHane glanced up at Giambione again and asked, "Gloves?" Frank studied her for a few seconds, and then took an extra pair out of his pocket and passed them over to her. She nodded, pulling them on, and began to carefully examine the body, pulling back the sleeves and collar.

When she started to work the shirt out of the belt, Colby Burns started and said, "Hey now - hold on."

Detective Meadows cleared her throat and said, "Don't touch or disturb anything else until the ME gets here, please."

LeHane looked up at her, eyes flat. "Detective... ?"

"Meadows. Detective Christine Meadows." LeHane nodded.

"This is why you brought me here, isn't it?" She looked at O'Brien. Kevin nodded. "I'm not going to thank you for this, you know." O'Brien nodded again, and shrugged. She looked at Christine and met her eyes evenly, "O'Brien invited me here because he thought I might be able to add something to this. Assuming that he didn't bring me just to watch my reactions - or only _just_ to watch my reactions. You might want to object to him, and let me do my job."

"It's ok, Chris. Let her go," O'Brien said. Christine started to say something, then held it and shook her head, making a 'by all means' gesture. O'Brien knew he'd hear about it later, though.

LeHane nodded and went back to her examination. After a point, she nodded absently, almost to herself, and moved to one of the other bodies. Noting the badge there as well, she pulled up the shirt and undershirt and went directly to whatever had caught her eye on the first one, Giambione watching over her shoulder. She nodded again and motioned the rest of them over.

"Philly's finest?" She asked, looking up at O'Brien.

"Formerly," he gave her a saturnine look. "Makes it not just a mass murder scene, but a double cop killing." She nodded and pointed at the body, calling out an odd tattoo just above the waistline over the right hip front.

"Naw. Whatever else they were, they haven't been cops for a long time now." She jerked her head to the previous body. "You'll find an identical tattoo on that one as well."

"What do you mean by that?" Burns said, angrily. "Dirty yeah - no way to doubt that here - but still cops." The big black detective's partner, Carson, looked like he was going to erupt at that also. Tom Kirkwood, as usual, was staying carefully out of the way... but his eyes weren't missing anything, including the various byplays and undercurrents.

"If you want to claim them, go ahead. I wouldn't," she met his eyes levelly. "Peace, Detective. Not trying to insult your badge. Let me finish here and I'll lay it all out for you, if I can." O'Brien made an offhand gesture, and Colby and Carson subsided for the moment.

"Chalk?" LeHane apparently dismissed Colby and Carson from her attention and looked up at rest of them. Christine dug a fresh piece of marking chalk from her bag and handed it over with a curious expression. "Thanks."

She stood and wandered around the front of the warehouse slowly, kneeling at various spots and using the chalk to trace around the various scatterings of ashes within the other casing spray patterns. After finishing, she stood and looked around carefully as if making certain she hadn't missed any. She tossed the chalk back to Christine - over her shoulder without looking, O'Brien noticed - and Chris snatched it out of the air, looking slightly surprised when she caught it. She turned and prowled back over to the group of detectives and one reporter, making certain not to step on any cartridge cases, bloodstains, or ashes.

"Your men outside going to shoot me if I go out, O'Brien?"

"Not if I tell them not to," he took his radio and told the uniforms and plainclothesmen outside the building that one of his people was coming out, and not to interfere with her. Being very careful with his wording so as to not attract the attention of any scanner listeners.

"Gracias." She nodded to him and went out the main door they'd entered through.

Detective Carson looked at him. "What's she doing here, Obie?"

"Wanted to see what she'd make of this," O'Brien said, flatly. "Been interesting so far." All of them were carefully ignoring the still moving spiked corpses, or should-be corpses. LeHane had barely given them a cursory glance except to walk carefully around them on her earlier examination.

After a number of minutes O'Brien's radio crackled, "O'Brien?"

"Obie. And I said 'cell phones only' - no radio traffic on this until I clear it. Got that?" A double-click answered him, and a moment later his phone vibrated. He flipped it open and to speaker saying, "What?"

"You know that biker chick you brought with you?"

"Yeah?"

"She just came out, wandered around examining the building a bit, and then went straight up the freaking wall like a lizard. Jumped almost fifteen feet up to a drainpipe and went up to the freaking roof using handholds I can't even _see_." Pause, "What the hell did you bring out here to consult with, Chief?"

"Anyone else see her?"

"No. Just me and my partner."

"Good. Let her alone." O'Brien paused, thinking. "Warn us if any news crews find out about this somehow and show up. And Do NOT let them past the tape. Period-end-of-discussion do not." Cell phone transmissions could be tapped into as well as radio, but police band scanners were a lot more common than cell phone band intercept equipment. Using the cells only, they could extend the time that Major Cases could keep a lid on this. And make it easier to narrow down the leak if any newsies - aside from Kirkwood - showed up.

Detective Carson raised an eyebrow at him. "Straight up a sheer wall to the roof?"

"We watched a blonde move faster than the eyes could follow on video tape the other night, Freddie," Giambione stated. "What makes LeHane's climbing and jumping ability any more remarkable?" Carson and his partner Burns looked decidedly non-plussed and unsettled, but didn't really seem to have a counter for that.

A few minutes later there was a quiet sound from above, and eyes went up to see LeHane dropping catlike through a roof access hatch that was no longer where it had been a few minutes earlier. She landed lightly - and almost noiselessly - on the upper walkway around that end of the warehouse and straightened, looking over the sprawled bodies below with an expressionless face and narrowed eyes. After a minute or so, she nodded again, apparently to herself and jumped - from an almost three story catwalk - and landed crouched in a clear spot among the bodies. Upon landing she straightened again and started moving between the chalk-outlined piles of dust and bodies, pausing and turning this way and that as she moved... occasionally shaking her head and backing up to retrace the graceful movements.

_'Almost like she's dancing,'_ Detective Meadows thought. _'No - not dancing: re-enacting what she thinks happened here.'_

When she reached the last body, she turned and retraced her route with her eyes and nodded again, then turned to O'Brien.

"She came in through up there. Not how I would have done it, but it seems to have worked," LeHane remarked in a dry voice. "And then she killed everyone in here, shut down the electronics and life support, and left out the front door. Like taking a stroll."

"She?" Stevie asked.

"I know maybe six people who could have done this without firearms - you'll note that all of the bullet pocks are away from the bodies, and very few of them are shot. The ones that were... I'll bet real money were shot with their fellows guns," LeHane said. "I'm one, and I didn't do it. The others aren't anywhere near this city - some aren't even in this country. So I'm guessing our blonde playmate paid this place a visit."

"You think you could have done this?" Carson's voice was skeptical, but not nearly as much as it might have been if he hadn't just watched that two-and-a-half story jump.

"Probably. I'd have done it differently, and I'd have soaked up some bullet holes doing it. Maybe enough to kill me," she looked not at Carson, but at the mylar encased bodies in racks and tubing at the back of the warehouse. "Tempted to say that blonde bitch did a Good Thing here, but I kinda doubt she did it out of pure goodness. This was a message."

"Message to who?" Giambione asked.

"Whoever owns this place," LeHane shrugged. "How did you guys find out about it?"

Giambione looked at O'Brien, then said, "Anonymous tip."

"Right." LeHane closed her eyes and shuddered briefly. "Scratch that, then. Message to you. And to me. And knowing that it'll get out indirectly to whomever owned this place."

"All right. What exactly do we have here, LeHane?" O'Brien's voice came out harsher than he intended.

He saw Faith glance around the warehouse again at the small group of officers and one reporter, and the noticeable lack of forensics teams and ME people. "We still off the official clock for now, Five-oh?"

He nodded. "For now. But not for much longer. I'm going to have to get forensics in here soon and the Medical Examiner's people, and then the lid will start quietly coming off."

Giambione smirked and said, "We hope 'quietly'. The clock is ticking now."

"Yeah." LeHane nodded again, slowly. "Let me see one of the weapons they were using before I answer that, please?" Giambione looked at O'Brien, and when he received a return nod, picked up one of the firearms and handed it to her. She examined it carefully and then pulled back the blot until it locked. "Empty... I need to see the ammo they were using."

Frank found one that still had rounds, and popped out the magazine and tossed it to her. She thumbed out several cartridges and looked them over, then tossed one to O'Brien. "10mm MP-5," O'Brien said. "Only examples of these were supposed to go exclusively to the FBI. Very odd looking rounds."

"Bet you that if you were able to check, you'd find that Heckler & Koch has a number of people with odd, hidden tattoos working for them. Bet real money that when/if you trace the serial numbers you find out that lot of these MP-5's never existed," Faith grinned mirthlessly, then took a deep breath again. "Ok. I've never seen one of these, but I've had it described to me. I've been told that there's something like this in almost every major eastern city... " She took a deep breath, "Those two are a pair of your 'exsanguination killers' O'Brien mentioned." She pointed at the two still - inexplicably and blindly - moving corpses. "This is a vampire blood extraction facility. They were waiting here for our blonde friend, with ammo designed to kill her. I'm not _certain_ what's in those bullets - but it's _probably_ some sort of concentrated UV gel with an electronic impact sensor."

_"Vampire?!"_ Colby Burns exploded. "Give me a break, lady." O'Brien didn't say anything, nor raise an eyebrow. Neither did any of the others... and he saw his partner nodding slowly, face expressionless.

"Vampire." LeHane merely looked at him, stone faced, then walked over to one of the twitching not-quite-corpses. "No pulse. Fangs. Low body heat. Still twitching and snapping with a steel spike through the temples and a broken neck. Haul it in to the morgue and remove the spike - and it'll heal and leave on you." She met his eyes with the same lack of expression and said in the same emotionless voice. "Twenty two corpses. Eight visible bodies and fourteen piles of ash."

She knelt down behind the twitching body and grasped it by the hair, pulling the head up. Her other arm moved suddenly, almost invisibly, and the head separated from the shoulders. It wasn't until she let go of the hair and stepped back and up that they saw the twelve inch bladed bowie in her right hand. The body burst into flames, and then disintegrated into flaming ash, the steel spike clattering to the floor.

"Christ!" Detective Carson stepped back, clawing for his gun. He wasn't the only one. The only thing that kept anyone from drawing on her was her calm and non-threatening stance and the sudden pyrotechnic display from the former twitching body.

LeHane didn't smirk or break her expressionless demeanor. Merely re-sheathed the knife under her leather jacket at the back and pointed at the remaining twitcher. "Vampire, Detective. One breed of them. Silver or sunlight kills them. Or decapitation, as you just saw. Your blonde bitch is a different breed of them."

She moved over to the corpse of one of the plainclothes cops she'd examined earlier and nudged it with her toe. "That's not 'one of yours' and it hasn't been for a long time. Neither is the other one. It's a Familiar, or was - a human that works for things like that," she pointed again at the still snapping 'corpse', "to help them do things like this." She gestured around the warehouse. "Take care of things for them in the daylight they can't do themselves; cover up for them and help misdirect people like you; get them information and political access; all in exchange for a promise that their 'Masters' might one day make them immortal as well. You can tell them by the tattoos, or similar ones - vampires like to mark their cattle."

She met O'Brien's eyes evenly. "You have an infestation, O'Brien. That's why your crime rate's been getting weirder for the past however many years, along with the other things you've mentioned. And now you have a war."

"If that's a vampire, then what are you?" Tom Kirkwood asked. Curious, non-threatening and definitely not disbelieving tone of voice. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Kirkwood. Tom Kirkwood."

"Kirkwood, of the Eagle?" She gave O'Brien a curious look when Kirkwood nodded, then looked back to Tom. "You look younger in your byline pic. I'm Faith," she said. "And I'm a Slayer. I was born to hunt things like that and kill them." She glanced around the warehouse again, "Every once in a while, I encounter something like this that makes me wish that people like me weren't necessary. And glad that we exist."

**...**

Faith was sitting with her back to the front wall of the warehouse some time later, arms folded over her knees and head resting on them with her eyes closed. There'd been a number of questions from the Major Cases detectives and Kirkwood, but not nearly as many as she'd expected. And a lot less revulsion towards her after her quick, shock vampire killing demo than she'd expected. Evidentially it had been the 'vampire' explanation rather than the strangeness that had shocked Detective Burns. Either that, or these cops adapted a lot faster to weirdness than Sunnydale cops ever had, and were a lot less inclined to look the other way from what was squarely in front of them. Even after she'd ashed the second crippled vampire on O'Brien's suggestion and with his blessing.

She raised her head slightly and considered the detectives. Rather... considered one detective.

_'Detective Christine Meadows. Slayer. Newly Awakened slayer,'_ she thought. _'Easiest couple of grand I ever made, assuming I live through this - I didn't even have to go looking for her.'_ She'd been distracted when her and O'Brien had walked into this... charnel house, but not so distracted that Detective Meadows hadn't registered on her slayer senses. Nor so distracted that she hadn't noticed it and surreptitiously hunted for the source of the ping on her inner radar.

Short hunt. Two female detectives. That kinda narrows down the field, huh?

Now all she had to do was figure out a way to talk to her alone and fill her in on what happened to her several months ago. And give her the information on the New International Watcher's Council, along with Giles' and Vi's number and information. Assuming she wanted to... Faith suspected that bringing police interest on the IWC wasn't quite what Giles had anticipated when he'd offered her the 'Locate new Awakened' contract. Faith laid her head back down on her forearms and closed her eyes again.

Footsteps coming toward her brought her back to the real world again, reluctantly. Two sets of footsteps. She kind of doubted that her first impulse of 'go the fuck away' would go over real well. Sigh.

"Are you ok?" O'Brien's voice was surprisingly gentle. Faith raised her head and blinked up at him, and at Tom Kirkwood standing next to him with a concerned expression and hands in his pockets.

"No. I may never be 'ok' again," Faith gave him a wan half smile.

Kirkwood gave her a curious and not-unsympathetic look completely at odds with what came out of his mouth shortly afterwards, "From the way you went over this place earlier, I'd kind of figured you were used to this sort of thing."

O'Brien's 'Tommy, you ass' glare almost perfectly mirrored Faith's incredulous stare at Kirkwood. To his credit, Tom Kirkwood seemed to realize he'd stuck his foot in his mouth all the way up to the hip a second after his mouth closed. He made a vague 'not what I meant to say!' gesture that was almost comical.

Faith shook her head and laid it back on her forearms. "Ask your friend O'Brien if he ever 'gets used to this sort of thing' sometime. I never have. It just doesn't always hit me this hard." She raised her eyes to his and looked at him, "I used to hide that a lot better, though," she said, softly.

"I open my mouth some days and stupidity emerges," Kirkwood said. O'Brien snorted and gave him a 'some days?' look that Kirkwood ignored.

"No worries. Join the club. It happens to me a lot," Faith said. "I've been trying to get past the will to be stupid for years, but I haven't made it yet."

"Time for us to go," O'Brien said. "Need to bring in the forensics people and the ME before the fact that we have a closed crime scene draws more attention than all... this... will on its own." He held out a hand and let her use it to pull herself up.

"Yeah." She glanced over at the back of the warehouse. "Just going to cover all this over?"

"Ha. Not possible," O'Brien said. "Going to do all the normal investigative work, and then we're going to find some plausible label to file it under when it comes out while we do the real investigation on the side."

Faith nodded. "Be careful. There's stuff out there that bites." She took a deep breath and turned away from the blood factory. She held out the four rounds of odd 10mm ammo she still had in her hand. "I'd like to hang on to these. I have some people I can send them to that can probably do a faster and more accurate analysis of what they are than your ballistics people can."

O'Brien studied her for a minute or so, then nodded abruptly. "Plenty here for the ballistics and lab people to look at. Doubt anyone will miss them."

"Yeah," Faith shrugged and put the rounds in a pocket. "If your labs can identify and figure out how to duplicate them - I'd suggest getting some made up for your squad's firearms." O'Brien nodded and she added, "So. Where to?"

"To talk. May as well go where we'd originally planned." O'Brien gave Kirkwood a look. "Later, Tommy."

"Amazingly, I can still eat." Faith shook her head. "I wonder if I should worry about why that doesn't make me want to throw up."


	10. Chapter 10: Some like to hunt us back

**Chapter 10: **_**"Some of them like to hunt us back"**_

Some time later, Faith was picking aimlessly at the remnants of her dessert in O'Brien's Italian place and considering the man sitting across the table from her. She glanced up to see O'Brien studying her with a decidedly... odd expression.

"What?!"

"What?" He gave her a puzzled look.

"What? You're looking at me like I have lettuce in my hair or something."

"Oh, that. No." He gestured at the wreckage of the meal sitting in front of her. "I was wondering if I should ask our waitress if they serve stomach pumps."

Faith looked at him, then burst out laughing, "No. It's ok, really. I usually eat like a starving wolf." His disbelieving expression set her laughing harder. "Really. It's when I _don't_ pack away at least this amount of food once a day that you need to call an ambulance - it means I'm dying type sick." She made a face. "Kind of surprised I still have an appetite after... " Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. They'd come to an unspoken agreement to avoid the topic of the horror show in that warehouse for the moment. Both wanting to put some distance between themselves and it before going back to the subject.

Faith was pretty sure it wasn't possible to put _enough_ distance there. She was afraid she'd be seeing that blood factory every time she closed her eyes for years to come. And she was no stranger to horrific images by now...

"I can see now why you insisted on buying dinner," he remarked. "If you were my daughter on a cops salary, I'd have to take out a second mortgage just for groceries."

"Yeah, and then you'd never get that Mercedes, O'Brien," she agreed, laughing.

"Kevin. I thought we agreed on 'Kevin'."

"No. _You_ agreed on Kevin." She gave him an impish look, "**I** haven't decided on a nickname for you yet."

"I can hardly wait," He accepted a coffee refill from the waitress with a murmured thanks, and leaned back in his chair.

"Be glad I'm not a Star Wars fan," she nodded. "Ok... you seem to have a pretty good amount of knowledge. Rain of fire, Jasmine, Sunnydale, my imprisonment and escape... Just not... complete."

"So, fill in the gaps for me," O'Brien suggested.

She gave him a long look, "I'm wondering how much of the gaps I can fill in for you, now that it's my turn. A lot of these aren't my secrets to share." O'Brien raised an eyebrow and gave her a hard look back. She shrugged, "You wouldn't tell an outsider your partner's secrets, details of ongoing investigations, or departmental secrets."

He considered that, said finally, "I'm going to suggest that we've come to a point where I have a right to know it."

"You have a right to know what's going on in your city. And a right to ask for help in dealing with it, and anything that can help with that." Faith regarded him carefully and shook her head, "Other than that... your job gives you a perception that you have a right to know a lot of things that really aren't police business, Detective. These secrets can hurt a lot of people who weren't involved if they got out, and not do you or your squad any good. Hurt people who really don't need to be hurt any more. Not my right to do that." She considered, and he waited. Finally... "I'll tell you what I think I can. I'm going to leave out some things. It'll have to be good enough."

"And if it isn't?" He asked.

"Then we get to have lots of fun deciding what to do about that," she gave him a sober look. "Because I won't bend, and I can't be broken on it."

"We'll see, then," he agreed.

Faith gave him a serious look, "Still unofficial, right?"

"Still unofficial," he nodded. "Like I said: we don't have 'oral exsanguination serial killers' in Philly. We don't have places like that 'blood extraction facility' in that warehouse. We don't have bodies that disappear from the morgue and later are seen wandering around. We don't have an unreasonably high number of murder victims that get quietly cremated within a short period of time after they hit the coroners office. We don't have a 'special' section of the city coroners office where victims from certain types of crimes or certain types of bodies get sent for thorough examination. Any police officers or medical examiners or reporters who suggest that we do, find their careers quietly dead ended." He frowned. "One way or another, that's a singularly apt choice of terms."

"Right." She took a deep breath, "Ok. You know most of the background from files, I'm pretty sure. But there's a lot that doesn't show up there, even reading between the lines. I was Chosen at the age of fifteen, end result of something a bunch of long dead ancient shamans did in prehistory to the first Chosen. The first person I can remember who actually gave a real shit about me was murdered in front of me, fairly horribly, by one of your 'oral exsanguination serial killers'... "

Even giving the abbreviated version, and leaving out details that might cause problems for other people, it took awhile. She was aware of O'Brien watching her carefully as she laid things out, apparently paying as much attention to her tone and inflections and body language as her words, asking questions only when he thought something needed elaboration upon. Didn't blame him really... even the short version was fairly incredible, and he wasn't exactly coming in on it cold, apparently.

"So... " Faith shrugged, "Not exactly what you signed up for, is it? A hidden world behind the one everyone wants to see. A hidden war that's been going on for eons, mostly out of sight of regular people. Vampires, demons, and worse. Complete with hidden warriors fighting and dying in it."

"If it weren't for a number of things over the last ten years or so, not even considering that warehouse, I'd be looking at you suggesting that you find a good psychiatrist," O'Brien nodded. "Even with all of that, I'm skeptical about more than a bit of it. But... "

"But you just watched two twitching not-quite-corpses burst into flaming ash when their heads were removed. And examined a place full of bodies encased in mylar with tubes running out of them into refrigerated blood holding tanks." Faith gave him a sympathetic look. "At least you're not deep in denial and coming up with a zillion alternate 'explanations' for all of this."

"You should have seen me ten years ago the first time a body disappeared from the morgue and was later spotted walking through an industrial area." He gave her an absolutely mirthless grin.

"I'll bet." Faith finally gave up on the remains of her dessert and took out one of her slim cigars. The third time her hand was shaking too bad to get it lit she slammed the lighter down on the table with a muttered, "Fuck!" and glared through her dinner companion.

"Here," O'Brien picked up the lighter and struck it, holding it to the end of the cigar. He gave her a curious look. "You know... Tommy's mouth was running ahead of his brain tonight, but he did have a bit of a point." She wrenched her glare back around to him and lifted an eyebrow, and he continued, "The way you handled that mess in the warehouse you come across almost as one of us. Detached, professional, a bit remote... you did a damned good job of reconstructing a plausible scenario for that mess in that blood factory. And your history doesn't exactly show you as being a stranger to violence and death, either."

"Thanks ever so much for reminding me," Faith remarked in a dry tone, then grinned to take the sting out. "Your background may not have mentioned just how badly I came apart when I finally burned out."

"If it helps any, I spoke to Detective Locksley over the phone a couple of years back when you were big news. And to Angel of what was then Angel Investigations, and Wesley Wyndham Price."

"Heh. Really?" Faith grinned, "I'll bet those were interesting conversations. First I've heard of it." She gave him a curious look, leaning back in her seat, "Why?"

"A full law enforcement alert went out, nationwide, when you woke up from your coma there and disappeared. Full nine yards: national manhunt, Federal US Marshall's Office, bulletins to all of the major and minor departments. It made me curious - that's why I recognized the name. And made me remember the 'unofficial details' from your escape."

"Curious?" Faith asked, eyebrow raised.

O'Brien snorted, "I think that currently, we have something over a hundred active serial killers operating in the United States, Canada, and Mexico. Several hundred nationwide murderous bank robbers and spree killers of various types. It wasn't that much different four or five years ago. With rare exceptions, _none_ of them rate full publicity and nationwide alerts with press coverage. The occasional _terrorist_ alert doesn't rate that usually, not even after 9/11."

"Ah," Faith nodded. "So why does a sixteen, seventeen year old girl, even one suspected of two murders and several assaults, get all that?"

"Yep," O'Brien nodded. "If you'd attempted to assassinate the president, sure. But just suspicion of involvement in two homicides that weren't even proven? Give me a break."

"So your curiosity got all aroused and you started poking around behind the euphemisms," Faith shook her head, fixing him with a curious expression. "And found a lot of 'BBQ fork incidents'."

"And a lot of doctored police reports. Lazy cops finding convenient solutions to close cases. And even more doctored news reports," O'Brien had a sour look. "Tommy took one look at several of those and said his editors would fire him if he wrote that crap. Based on what I'm going to laughingly call 'the evidence', if you hadn't confessed, I probably wouldn't have arrested you on the Deputy Mayor's death. I would have looked at you real hard for it, yeah."

"Guilty on that, but there was more to it. Alan Finch wandered into a place where he shouldn't have been, in the middle of a fight, and practically threw himself in my way. Hopped up on adrenaline, and my reactions and reflexes are _fast_, even when I'm not wired for sound. Not an excuse, just a reason." Faith shrugged, "Doesn't matter anyway. He did something idiotic, but I was the one who reacted and killed him."

"Matters, and it doesn't matter. Manslaughter, at best. A cop in a shooting incident like that would probably get administrative leave, and then fired after IAD finished with him. Not imprisoned," O'Brien remarked. "A fifteen year old kid shouldn't be in that situation, making those decisions."

"Fifteen year old girls have been in those situations, making those decisions, for millenia, O'Brien." She shook her head, "And the other one was murder. One I paid for, but still murder."

"Are you trying to convince me to look at you as a criminal and a suspect?" O'Brien raised an eyebrow, and Faith gave him a startled look. "Pretty odd behavior for a con artist," he remarked. "You should be trying to convince me that none of it was your responsibility."

"Right. I keep forgetting my script," she gave him another rueful look. "Everyone I met in prison was innocent," Faith's tone was matter of fact. "I'm not going to do that."

"Right. Everything I dug up on that mess shows that you never did when you gave yourself up. That buys you a lot of points with someone like me," O'Brien nodded. "Tommy doesn't have all that background, or if he did he didn't pay thorough enough attention to it. I did, and even then after encountering you at the hospital, watching you on the security vids with that blonde, and watching you at that... crime scene, I was coming to expect someone... " O'Brien shrugged.

"Harder? Colder maybe?" O'Brien nodded and she shrugged. "Tough girl. Hard case. Faith makes people react to her and nuthin' but nuthin' ever touches her. I seem to have lost that somewhere along the way... " She blew a smoke ring and looked through it while it disintegrated, lost in her thoughts.

"We're supposed protect people from that type of thing," Faith drew herself back to the table and met O'Brien's eyes. "I kinda lost track of that for awhile, but I managed to get back to it. Something like that blood factory slaps me in the face with a big bloody hand print and reminds me that no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try, the monsters are winning and we can't protect everyone from the dark." He jerked his head in a quick nod and she grinned, "Yeah. You got it too, don't you? Just buried deeper. Maybe if I'm at this for twenty years... there'll come a point where I'm resigned to that. I'm not there yet."

"I'm not sure you ever get there, not really," O'Brien remarked. "Or if you do... you become the kind of cop - or hunter - that quits giving a shit and gets into it for the graft and the perks, or eats a gun."

"Yeah, been there, done that. Didn't work for me," Faith blew another smoke ring and studied it. "You're not really seeing the 'softer side of Faith', though, even if it looks like it maybe." Her eyes came back to his and suddenly there was something ancient looking out of them: something remote and still. "I'm not shaky because I'm shook, if that makes any sense. I'm shaky because I'm so freaking pissed that it's taking every ounce of control I have to not scream and smash everything and everyone in reach - and then tear out and start tearing up every vampire haunt in a thirty mile radius and leaving a trail of ashed and dusted bodies behind me until every single fucking one of them is dead dead final dead." The smile she gave him had nothing even remotely humorous in it. "That's what I do, usually, when something like this happens: break shit and kill things until whatever did it shakes out in the open where I can target it. And I can't do that right now, and it's driving me nuts. Nutser."

O'Brien's eyes were sympathetic. "Know the feeling." He raised his eyebrows, "Why can't you?"

"Ha. You mean aside from running a risk of getting de po-lice all over me now that I seem to have gotten myself mixed up with you?" Faith snickered, then sobered. "Our blonde friendy made it pretty clear to me in our little ER encounter that she targeted the Winchesters to get to me." She noticed that there wasn't any surprise at that in O'Brien's face, not even hidden, and she wondered about that but let it go. "Second encounter - yes there was a second, I'll tell you about it later, ok? - I wasn't 'playing by the rules'. Her rules. Then this..." Faith's eyes narrowed. "She knows my style. Going out on the prowl tearin' shit up looking for her is exactly what she wants me to do, and I'm not playing. I'm going to bring her to me on my terms."

"Ah. Not bad tactics. Playing the bad guy's game can get you killed on their terms," O'Brien said. "You said 'and then this'?"

"Blood factory. Anonymous tip to Giambione. I could be reading it wrong and the message was to you guys, but if I'm not... she's upping the stakes," Faith's eyes were cold. "Letting us know that she'll keep upping them until I decide to play and quit moving in daylight and sticking to the hospital at night where there's crowds and cameras. Secrecy is a big thing to her breed of vamp, I'm told. If she goes too far over the edge and draws attention, she can get her own kind after her."

O'Brien looked skeptical, but nodded. Faith continued, "You're the only other target here she might use as leverage, and I'm not sure she'd make that leap, based on my history if she's researched me. I can't do anything to protect you guys, and that's not my business anyway. I can protect the Winchesters... but only if I cover them at nights when she can move around. Which means I can't be going out and tearing up vampire haunts in the usual hours."

"All right," O'Brien's gave on her eyes was level. "Is there anything that we can do to help with that?" He must have seen the sudden surprised narrowing of her eyes, because he added, "You're helping us, right? Even if we could make a case that some of this is because our blonde is targeting you, I'm not going to hold you responsible for someone - something - else trying to murder you. So is there anything that can be done to free you up from covering the Winchesters twelve hours a night?"

"Sorry. I'm not used to the police being all helpful and shit. Part of me is still wondering when you're going to quit playing games and slap the cuffs on me," Faith remarked, inclining her head slightly.

"No games."

"You keep surprising me, Detective." She took a deep breath, "There's some things I can do to help protect both Winchesters until they're up and around on their own feet. And some things that can be done to help hurry that along, a bit. But I can't do any of them as long as Sam's in ICU. It's too open, too public, and too heavily trafficked." She cocked her head slightly, "If you can use whatever influence you have to convince the hospital to move Sam up to Dean's room, now that Dean's in a private one... it'd make that possible."

"Hrrmm... " He thought a minute, then nodded. "Material witnesses in an assault, we have the best suspect for their assailant on tape in the ER, and we have reason to believe that their assailant may try again. Plausible enough that I can probably lean on the hospital staff to put them both in the same room, with a bit of argument." He shrugged, "I don't want to make too huge a splash on it - last thing we need is for some enterprising crime reporter to notice that a Major Cases Squad detective is putting someone who's the victim of what should be a simple assault under special protection and start digging - and they do check ER on slow nights for leads."

"Yeah. Still... that'd be cool. Thanks." Faith glanced over and suddenly realized it had gotten darker outside at some point.

O'Brien followed her gaze, checked his watch, and said, "Yeah. Bit over an hour after dark - time slipped away from me too. If you want to get up to the hospital before too much later, we'd better go. We can finish this discussion later."

"Right," Faith put her credit card on the tray with the bill and motioned their waiter over. "Been real, been fun, but it's time to go."

**...**

Half way across the side lot where she and O'Brien had parked their respective vehicles Faith's vampire sense screamed in her mind, and she stopped dead, turning slowly to scan the area.

"What?" O'Brien had stopped as well, hand partway under his coat.

"Not sure... " Faith made a 'don't distract me' motion.

She wasn't caught leaning, this time. Even so, the blonde woman's speed damned near caught her flat footed. She had barely enough time to grab O'Brien by the shoulder and throw him behind her before the blonde vampiress was almost on top of her, tearing at a hellish speed from the direction of the front of the restaurant.

Faith didn't even want to think about what that meant for anyone back there, and she shut down that part of her mind ruthlessly as the slayer essence came boiling out to the surface in her.

Blurring, near invisible speed or not, the vampire woman didn't have her _that_ out classed. Faith could blur like that when she was in full overdrive, and her senses and reflexes were _used_ to dealing with things that moved far beyond the speed of human perceptions. She swept an arm and reaching claws aside with a circular block of her right arm, caught a handful of shoulder and bodysuit with her left hand, and threw the blonde fifteen feet to land with a crunch that dented in the side of an SUV. Glass shattered and the car alarm went whooping futilely under the impact.

The blonde peeled out of the dent, already in motion, and crossed the distance in a leap. Too fast for Faith to draw a main weapon - but that wasn't the only thing she had at her disposal. If she'd gotten the heart it might have ended there: Faith ducked under a grasping strike and buried the eight inches of wood inlaid steel of the blade in her right bracer to the knuckles in the blonde's chest and twisted. The vampiress gasped, then snarled, her face twisted into something that would do a 'normal' demonic vamp proud - or scare the hell out of one. Faith crowded into the vampire woman, fists hammering in a blur of motion - forearm blades biting deep with every strike and twisting. Never once hitting the heart or anything else that would be vital on a vampire, but doing savage damage.

_'Damage them enough and they'll go into a frenzied berzerkergang,'_ she heard Wesley's remembered voice in her mind. _'Or, as Sensei Kanno put it: stop the mind, stop the brain: stop the fighter. Take the Art out of them, hurt them bad enough fast enough, make them stop thinking while keeping your head - then take them out.'_ She tried to forget that _she'd_ never done too well at the 'keep your own head' part of that. She clamped down on the part of her that wanted to give herself over to the savage exultation of the battle lust and concentrated on doing mayhem with her hands. She moved with her target, drove the blonde back up against the same SUV she'd thrown her into before, slammed her shoulder into the vampiress' chest and tucked her head down and her chin into her collarbone to protect it from the blonde's flailing return swings and continued slamming into her.

The blonde twisted aside, impossibly, so that Faith's right fist and forearm blade sliced glancingly across her midsection, shoved her out and away - and grabbed her by the jacket collars and threw her across the parking lot.

_'Christ!'_ was all that went through her mind before she slammed into one of the parking lot lamp posts with a crunch. The back of her head hit the metal post with a crack and everything went black around the edges as she slid down to the asphalt. _'Not even Angelus was that strong,'_ she thought dizzily. _'The __Beast__ barely threw me that hard.'_ She shook her head groggily to force the blackness away from the edges of her vision before realizing that was a mistake, and struggled to get to her feet. She was vaguely aware of hearing flat, sharp popping sounds from across the parking lot. They sounded as though they came from a long distance away...

**...**

Detective O'Brien had ended up sprawled over six feet away from the small brunette, not completely certain how he'd gotten there. He'd struggled back up to his feet in time to see LeHane throw the blonde woman into the side of a sport utility and then meet and drive her back to it when she launched herself back at her, a blur of motion. _Both_ of them moving almost too fast for the eyes to follow. He stood holding the useless revolver he'd drawn as LeHane slammed the bigger woman fifteen feet back into the same SUV and pounded her midsection into bloody mush. O'Brien watched almost in disbelief as the woman twisted aside and then threw LeHane into a parking lot light, the thick metal post _bending_ to lean crazily over the impact point.

_'She's dead,'_ he thought as the blonde shook herself before stalking over to where LeHane had slumped down to the base of the light fixture. _'No - __we're__ dead, both of us'._

It gave him a clear field of fire, though. He raised the revolver and put five .44 Special soft points into the blonde woman's chest from twelve feet away as she walked past ignoring him. Five rounds, with not a single bit of visible effect except that she turned slowly, smiling, to face him with eyebrow raised and an amused smirk on her lips. _'Well, at least I got her attention'._

Lucky him. She crossed the twelve feet of space almost as fast as she had the fifteen separating her from Faith that first time, slapping the gun from his hands almost lazily as he backpedaled trying to reload.

"Nice grouping." She smiled and he could see the enlarged teeth and long incisors like the two 'corpses' in the blood factory had had as her mouth distorted. "A pity that I'm immune to bullets. Sucks to be you." She stalked forward smiling as he backed away.

A dark haired blur hit her from the side, sending both of them flying. He heard a cracking sound and a choked scream as the blonde and LeHane struck the ground rolling ten feet back down the parking lane. The hair on the back of his neck crawled as they both came back to their feet, the blonde rising slower this time, and he heard the inhuman growl coming from deep in LeHane's chest.

Faith rolled onto her feet first, still dizzy and pushing it back with everything she had. She took advantage of the moment to gather herself as the blonde pulled herself up a piece at a time with a snarl, left arm hanging twisted at her side from where that flying kick had struck her.

"He's _mine_. **You** can't have him," Faith matched her snarl for snarl.

"Oh, I'm going to _enjoy_ turning you." The blonde's eyes lit up. "He'll keep. He can be your first childer."

Faith's eyes flickered to O'Brien, then back to the blonde by way of the cross street behind her. Busy, for a side street. She noted that in passing and gave blondie a critical look over. "Nice sunburn." The blonde had burn marks on one side of her face still from their previous encounter, and her abdomen was a bloody ruin. She'd done a lot of damage in their first exchange, but not enough, obviously. Faith figured that blondie was ahead on points so far. Time to even that up.

An amused smile twisted her lips as her eyes lit up, "Didn't they tell you that vamps don't tan well?"

Blondie's face twisted and she shook herself, snapping her shoulder back into place with a horrid sound. She slid forward, not quite as fast as she had the first time she'd attacked. Faith sidestepped and spun a jump kick into the back of the blonde's head as she went past, but not before an elbow strike caught her under the arm and high in the ribs. She landed poised from the kick, fighting back the blackness that threatened to crowd in at the edges of her mind again.

"Klutz," Faith snickered and the blonde lunged at her again. Faith grinned, lunging forward to meet her, and they came together in a blur of fists, feet, and elbows.

**...**

O'Brien threw a fast glance around as the two fought, not seeing where his pistol went. It hadn't done much good the first time, anyway... except that the distraction had very possibly saved LeHane's life and bought her enough time to recover and save his own ass. He thought about his backup piece and reconsidered. His radio was in the car... he pulled out his cellphone instead. _'Call for backup, with shotguns,'_ he thought. _'If they get here in time, maybe they can do enough damage to at least slow her down to where LeHane can take her out... '_

**...**

_'Hope vampy didn't watch the same movies I did growing up.'_ Faith fell backwards as the blonde vampiress charged again, hands reaching up to grab collar and a handful of body suit. She brought her foot up into the vampire's abdomen, hard, straightening her knee as her back hit the ground and using both of their momentum to hurl the dead woman over and past her. The blonde hit the asphalt with a crunching noise and Faith rolled up to her feet, grinning. There was a name for that maneuver that she'd never been able to remember. When she'd taught it to mini-slayers in training she always called it the 'Indian Rifle Throw' - it worked wonderfully for dealing with heavier and stronger opponents who were stupid enough to charge in.

It had been a long time since she'd fought something that was both faster and stronger than she was. Damaged, almost blacking out still from her impact with the light pole... Faith suddenly realized she was enjoying the hell out of this.

She met the blonde as the vampiress was coming onto her feet with a spinning kick that rocked the blonde vamp's head back and followed it with snap kick that staggered her backwards again. A back fist seemed to flow naturally out of that combo, and it caught the vampire across the cheek, bone shattering under her fist. The side kick that flowed out of that caught blondie under the chin and sent her back and over to land in a heap six feet away.

Six feet closer to the line of cars at the edge of the parking lot and the early evening traffic beyond...

The blonde rolled up out of the fall moving back in, eyes blazing. But she wasn't moving quite as fast as she had been only a short bit earlier. Unfortunately... neither was Faith. Faith's hand came out from under her jacket with a pair of wood-and-steel throwing spikes and her arm blurred, both spikes embedded in the blonde's chest a split second later. Neither of them hit the heart. A pity, that. In the back of her mind, Faith was dimly aware that she could hear screams coming from the direction of the restaurant, and she felt sick inside, the savage battle joy suddenly going out of her.

She doubted that she could concentrate for the half moment it would take to draw her Valdris blades to her hands, with her head the way it was. Not something that she really wanted to do, anyway: she'd rather keep those in reserve and a secret for now. No matter. Faith's hands came away from her jacket the second time with a knife in each fist: the big Moeller bowie in her right and her knife, the knife the Mayor had given her and that she'd repossessed for herself finally, in her left.

They'd never been able to find out exactly what that knife was. Not even Willow had been able to analyze it completely, nor had Giles ever found anything reliable on it in his books. All Faith knew for certain was that it would cut damned near anything, and it dealt wounds that would kill almost anything she'd ever struck with it.

Blondie checked her rush at the sight of that blade. Faith didn't slow - she was already moving to meet the vampiress half way, and she came in low and fast with the big bowie coming across in a left/right arc and the wicked looking Hibben style knife coming in low and upwards to gut her opponent. An opponent that wasn't quite there: the blonde backpedaled and twisted aside, taking a cut across the collarbone and upper breast from the big bowie in order to avoid the second blade.

Faith snarled and reversed the left hand knife as she went past and spun to bring it across the vampire's throat. The blonde leaned away from it again, and struck, nailing Faith in the right side with a knee, hard. Faith grunted and continued the move to bury the blade backhand in the vampire's gut, only to have her arm blocked and then locked in some sort of aikido hold as she was spun around. She wrenched away, and there was a nasty popping sound as her shoulder separated followed by the Mayor's knife clattering to the asphalt.

She didn't scream, nor did she pass out from the sudden shock... but it was a very near thing.

She almost blacked out again as her left arm was caught in a viselike grip once more and wrenched around behind her, her shoulder dislocating in addition to the separation. An arm snaked around her neck, drawing her backwards against the blonde vampire's body, holding her immobile for a moment as much from the pain as from the grip. A moment was all it took: the big bowie hit the pavement as she felt teeth in her neck and her back arched into the ecstasy of the bite...

There was a reason that vampire groupies called it 'The Kiss', she knew. She'd felt it before. She knew that she had only seconds, if that, before the ecstasy of the draining sucked her in and drove all thought of resistance from her mind, losing herself in the pleasure.

And this time, she didn't have veins full of Orpheus and a deliberate plan to poison the bitch as they had Angelus. When she woke up from this embrace, she'd be a vampire's childer, if she woke up at all.

"_**No!**_" Faith wasn't sure if she screamed that out loud or only in her mind. It didn't matter. There was an advantage to wearing enough steel that you glitter when you walk, even if she was lightly armed compared to the way she normally went about.

She flexed her right wrist, the free one, and eight inches of silvered steel, inlaid with ironwood snapped out of her forearm bracer. She'd paid a custom maker a lot of money for that set of blades - worth every penny of it if this saved her life. Faith brought her right hand up and over her shoulder and the blonde vampiress' arm, driving the blade deep into her face and eye as she jackknifed forward at the hips. There was an inhuman shriek from behind her and the teeth ripped out of her neck tearing flesh and skin away with them.

"_Not_ gonna happen," came out from between her clenched teeth as she turned and drove the wrist blade into blondie's chest just under the 'V' of the breastbone and up into the diaphragm.

Faith spat blood into the blonde's face as she raised her arm, lifting the still impaled vampire up on the end of her fist, and turned and threw her the rest of the way down the parking aisle to crash onto the window and hood of a car parked at the end of the lot. She bent over slightly, holding her injured arm and gasping for breath as she watched the blonde slowly gather herself together. She became aware that she could hear sirens approaching fast. Evidently O'Brien had managed to call for backup, or else the owner of that wrecked SUV had called the cops.

The blonde pulled herself up, finally coming to her feet on top of the roof of the car she'd landed on, eyes blazing. Faith cut her eyes to one side, measuring, and as the blonde came fully erect, she took two running steps forward and leaped and drop-kicked the blonde woman in the chest and off the top of the car.

Off the top of the car, out into the street, and directly into the path of an oncoming pickup truck speeding up to make the yellow light at the intersection...

There was a screech of brakes, far too late, and a meaty crunch as the grill and bumper caught the blonde at forty miles an hour and flipped her up and into the windshield of the pickup and then over the roof into the bed. Faith rolled off of the hood of the car, slowly, and came to her feet as O'Brien came running up to her. The driver of the pickup finished standing on his brakes, bringing the truck to a halt and throwing the blonde forward against the back of the cab. Suddenly there were red and blue lights everywhere as a squad car slid to a stop a dozen yards ahead of the pickup truck.

Faith and O'Brien watched as a hand came up out of the bed, latched onto the truck bed's side, and the blonde vampire pulled herself slowly to her feet again.

"Tough old bitch, ain't she?" Faith observed, left arm dangling awkwardly at her side. O'Brien's only reply was to bring his revolver up, badge folder open in his other hand, and empty another five rounds into the blonde's chest as a pair of cops piled out of the cruiser holding pump shotguns.

"Freeze, bitch," O'Brien said. The two uniformed cops cursed and took up positions by their car aiming their shotguns at the blonde and yelling at her to put her hands on her head and stand down. The driver of the pickup had an 'Oh shit!' look on his wide-eyed face as he dove for his floorboards that would have been comical in another situation.

Faith snickered, "Timing is everything, they say." If looks could kill, both she and O'Brien would be moldering dust from the glare the blonde woman gave them. She swept a disdainful look over the patrol cops, her eyes settling on Faith to lock gazes with her.

"Next time, Slayer." The blonde turned and jumped to the roof of another car, then another. She hit the ground on the other side of the cross street running flat out to disappear between the buildings there.

"Fuck you," Faith remarked. She spit again. There was more blood in it, she noticed absently.

She raised her head slightly to meet O'Brien's eyes. "What those like me were designed to hunt, O'Brien," Faith's eyes were dark. The blackness kept fading in and out at the edges of her vision, and she wasn't sure if what she was saying made much sense. "Evidently, some of them like to hunt us back."

"So I see."

"All in all though, I think I'm ahead on points, finally," Faith stated, grinning. Then her eyes rolled up into her head and her knees buckled. O'Brien managed to catch her under the arms before she pitched face forward onto the asphalt - barely.

"Christ," he said, softly. Then he whipped his head around to the two patrol officers running up, "Get an ambulance. _NOW!_" Two more squad cars and Giambione's unmarked pulled up as he stooped and slid his other arm under Faith's knees and straightened up with her.


	11. Chapter 11: Gets kinda rough on the puck

**Chapter 11: **_**"It gets kinda rough on the puck... "**_

_She was back in that dismal abandoned warehouse where they'd tracked Angelus, just after first Angelus and then Jasmine's minion, the Beast had taken their turns beating her almost to death. Coughing up blood and scrabbling backwards in a futile attempt to back away from the Beast._

_"So this is a Slayer," the Beast was looking down at her with those almost human eyes, that deceptively gentle and compassionate gaze fixed on her. "I was told that the Slayer possessed great strength."_

_She spit blood at him, watching Angelus laughing behind him. Laughing at her with Angel's face. She tried to lever herself up, fell back gasping from the pain of shattered ribs. "__This__ is all that you are?" The Beast looked down, shaking his head in disgust, "There is no power here. I had heard the slayer possessed great strength, but there's no real power here. My master's power is beyond all limits, beyond your petty imagining. You are weak. You're nothing. You cannot even defeat me." He stalked forward as she edged back shaking her head in denial, "Is this all that you are? Is this really __all__ that you encompass?"_

_She tried to say 'No', and the words wouldn't come out. All she could so was shake her head wordlessly and try again to come to her feet and keep fighting. Try once again, and fail._

_The Beast raised its arms, preparing to strike what she knew was going to be her death blow. "Is this really all that you are?"_

_Her voice wouldn't come, and she was going to die. She tried to force out the words, and then heard them coming from elsewhere... in a voice that was her own but wasn't. "No. It's __not__."_

...

She swam sluggishly back to wakefulness, hearing her own voice repeating over and over, like some defiant mantra, "It's not. It's not all. It's _not_... " Before she ever reached the surface of the waking world, darkness swam up and claimed her again, dragging her back down...

...

_She was drowning in sunlight, that was the first thing that struck her mind. Sunlight and trees. She picked herself up off of the ground and leaves, brushing forest mold and bits of twig from her hair, looking around. Trees everywhere. Huge trees, as far as her eyes could see, with golden beams of sunlight slanting down through the canopies above like something in one of those fantasy paintings._

_She felt a pain shoot through her side, like a small, hot knife, and groaned, reaching to press her palm against her ribs. Hard leather met her fingers, cool and smooth. She looked down at herself in surprise to find herself covered from neck to toe in gleaming black and gold leather and steel. She recognized it: the armor she'd worn at the Battle of the Pit. No longer slashed in a hundred places and covered in gore and ichor, but the same._

_Faith raised her hand before her face examining the leather gauntlet encasing it and flexed her fingers, wondering. "No. It's not," she spoke back to the echo from the previous dreaming. "It's __not__ all that I __am. It's not."_

_"Of course it isn't," the voice came from behind her and off to one side, some distance away and she whirled, startled. "It never was."_

_A female voice, attached to a female type person, naturally. There was no threat in the other woman's posture or demeanor, and Faith relaxed, giving her a wary nod that was returned in kind. She looked the intruder to her dreaming mind over carefully, and curiously._

_Short, wavy chestnut hair with a slight auburn tinge. Bright blue eyes - the blue of the hottest part of a flame - in a sharp face that managed to be both striking, elegant, and obscenely cheerful at the same time. Shorter than Faith. Hell... shorter than B even, but no one looking at her would ever make the mistake that 'small' meant 'pushover'. Not twice, anyway. She was wearing a lacy bloused shirt over flowing dark blue pants tucked into high leather soft-soled boots. There was a long knife in a beaded scabbard at one hip under an elaborately embroidered dark green vest, and a tooled and engraved leather satchel depending from a shoulder strap. Several smaller tooled pouches hung from the embroidered sash around her waist. She was leaning casually on a quarterstaff some foot or so taller than she was, watching Faith examine her back._

_Faith grinned and ambled over like a lazy cat, stopping when the smaller woman had to angle her head back slightly to look up at her._

_"So... " she said, looking down. The other woman's eyes twinkled. "I'd have been expecting Cordy."_

_"Guess not," the small woman shook her head. Her voice was deeper and huskier than Faith would have expected from someone that size. "She must've had other callings."_

_"Ah. Powers That Be still not interested in this, then?" Faith cocked her head slightly._

_"Nope. Not a sent vision. This one's entirely yours."_

_Faith nodded, slowly. 'Uh huh. Slayer dream? I thought... " She made a vague gesture with a gloved hand._

_"They're not all about demons, apocalyptic visions, obscure warnings, and visions of past slayers, Faith." The other woman grinned. "Sometimes, they're just a place in your head for you to get away for a bit and sort things out."_

_"Cool. Take a vacation and never leave the burg," Faith snickered. "What about that bit earlier? The Beast... ?"_

_"Normal dreaming. Nightmare. Your subconscious playing games with your soul while you're unconscious."_

_"Good. I think I've grown a bit, but I really don't want to face that again right now."_

_The other woman nodded, and glancing around, took a step over and settled comfortably on a fallen log, laying her quarterstaff to one side of her. She gestured at a boulder across from her and a few feet away. "You don't have to. Have a seat."  
__  
Faith nodded again and wandered over a bit to sit with her back leaning against the moss covered rock. She groaned as she settled down and reached to rub at her left shoulder with gauntleted palm._

_"Still hurt?" Those bright blue eyes were sympathetic._

_"Yeah. No... kinda. Mostly itches something fierce," Faith changed her mind part way through. "And can't scratch it. Fucking figures."_

_"You could lose the armor," the other woman cocked her head. "You really don't need it as much anymore."_

_"Yeah... " Faith felt a sudden reluctance to divest herself of the mail, but the itching was driving her nuts. She levered herself up again, searching for the buckles and catches that had to be there. They weren't. "Oh, fucking great. It won't come off."_

_"You could will it away," the small woman suggested, eyes merry._

_"Just like that, huh?" Faith snickered, then froze and fixed her gaze on the dream woman. "Waitaminnit. This armor's one of those metaphor things, right?" She snorted. "Smart ass."_

_"Hey - it __**is**__ a dreaming. Of __course__ it's filled with metaphors," the small woman grinned infectiously. "They might be prompted by the Slayer Essence, but it's __your__ head."_

_"Yeah, and it's using whatever building blocks they can find in the trash heap," Faith laughed, but it was a sour laugh._

_"Lots more up there than trash," the woman said in a matter of fact tone. "But you know that already. Trashing yourself is an easy habit, isn't it?"_

_Faith glared at her, then snorted. "Yeah. I even know why I do it. Doesn't help."_

_"I know," there wasn't anything sarcastic or condescending in the reply, and it took the steam out of whatever Faith had intended to follow up with._

_"Yeah." She looked down at the armor again, then over at the other woman and cocked her head slightly. "Just will it away, huh? You make it sound so simple."_

_"Simple. I didn't say it was easy, did I?"_

_"No. You didn't." Faith agreed. "Y'know... if this is made from a metaphor, then there's reasons why I built it for myself, right?"_

_The smaller woman nodded. "Good ones, too. But... do they really still apply, when you think about them? Do you really have to keep everything out still? Or haven't some of the only good things you've seen over the past years come only once you dropped the armor a bit and let things come in and touch you?"_

_"Huh." Faith folded her arms across her chest and regarded the other woman, getting back only an __impassive and uncomfortably sympathetic gaze. She leaned her head back and looked at the inside of her eyelids instead, thinking. Finally, "Where only the things that you've touched can save you... Yeah." She opened her eyes again and looked over. "Guess the Pit didn't teach me that hard enough, huh?"_

_"It did. You're just still processing it," the other woman said, softly. "Simple, not easy, right? Takes awhile for change to go from the head to the core of your Self."_

_"Right." Faith closed her eyes again and thought about the gleaming black armor, and how damned comfortable the leather and steel felt. How... natural, walling her off. Then she thought about Blade, and King, and Abby. And about Wes, Dawn, and Angel... how letting them in past the defenses hadn't hurt the way she'd been afraid it would. She nodded and started to picture herself, in something else. Something less... forbidding._

_A sudden thought struck her and she cracked one eye open and gave the woman a suspicious look, "This isn't just some way to get me out of the armor and get yourself a freebie peek show, is it?"_

_The other woman started laughing so hard she almost fell off of her log. "Damn, you caught me. Almost worked, too," she snickered. "No, it's not. Sorry - I don't swing quite that way. Goddess - you're so damned suspicious."_

_"Hey, it's kept me alive a few times," Faith grinned, then went back to what she'd been doing. Simple, not easy, huh? She didn't use them as often as she probably should - she just wasn't a meditation kind of girl - but Sensei Kanno and Master Caine had taught her meditation techniques, including visualization. So had Diana, along with lucid dreaming, before she'd been... before she'd died. Faith forced that particular visualization out of her mind. She'd also learned centering exercises - those had been actually useful to her at the time for combat._

_Hokay... center. Deep breaths. Regular breaths. Calm. Visualize what you want, see yourself as you want to be right now. This is a dream, after all... Faith gathered a clear mental image, finally, of herself as she was, covered head to toe in gleaming thick black leather and golden steel. She carefully erased the armor, replacing it first with an image of what she saw in the mirror naked, then... hrrrm. What did she want? Something comfortable... ok. Black much-washed wife-beater, so comfortable it's almost falling apart, but not quite. Loose cutoffs, not the skin tight and spray painted on ones she'd wear to get male - or female - attention: the type you'd wear to lounge around the house in, if she had a house. So faded they're almost worn through in places from too much washing. Shoes? The forest floor had looked comfortable... but Faith had been in woods enough to know that that was deceptive. Shoes then. Not running shoes... she finished off with a pair of old tennis shoes, comfortable black Converse like she'd had as a kid._

_Now hold that image - fix it in the mind's eye, so that it doesn't fade away. Hold it until it becomes a natural part of the dreaming..._

_Faith opened her eyes and looked down. Coolness - just like she'd pictured. She felt like she'd dropped about forty pounds and gained a LOT of freedom of movement. Well... almost cool. There was a huge purplish black bruise covering her entire left shoulder and down into her upper ribs on that side. Ow. And it still itched. She scratched fiercely at her side for a few minutes, reveling in the escape from the itching._

_"ow." Faith worked her shoulder gingerly, and looked over at the small woman, meeting the brilliant __eyes. "Guess I'm hurt pretty bad, back there, huh?"_

_The other woman nodded, "Yeah. But you're getting better."_

_Nod. "Any idea how long... ?"_

_"How long you've been out?" She shook her head, "No. Sorry... no idea how long before you drew me here, and it's kind of a timeless place."_

_"S'allright. Just curiosity." Faith nodded and settled in cross legged back against the warm boulder, stretching. "As long as nothing kills me while I'm unconscious."_

_"I think that you're being guarded while you're out. Friends... ?" The small woman looked distant for a moment, then shook her head. "Your subconscious doesn't feel threatened. Wary, yes, but not afraid. I don't think you're in danger right now." She paused for a bit, then, "It's always a concern, but not at the moment."_

_"Wicked. I could use the break," Faith said, with a bit of a sour tone. "Huh. Ok... so, who are you?"_

_The small woman cocked her head and grinned, eyes dancing. "I think you know already."_

_Faith gave her an even sourer expression. "Yanno? I got real damned tired of that game the last time around. If you want to play it, go ahead. Clean the ceiling when you're done jerking off." She looked around, spotting a broad trail through the trees, "Me, I'll go take a hike through the woods and see what else is out here that's like, entertaining and enlightening and shit."_

_The other woman's expression became immediately apologetic. "Peace. No game - I'm not jerking with your head. I'm no Walter Slovotsky to be a sarcastic ass and screw with someone in the middle of something important." She gave Faith a rueful look, "It really is better if you figure it out, but if you honestly can't I'll tell you. Promise."_

_"Huh." Faith studied the other woman a bit, glaring, then jerked her head in a nod. Her shoulder hurt, her side itched something fierce, and her head hurt. She really didn't want to go stomping off through the woods all pissed off instead of sitting here comfortable and shooting the shit. But she would... she really wasn't in a mood to want to get jerked around by dream people. "All right. Done - peace."_

_Faith studied the small woman carefully, then closed her eyes, sifting through several years of encounters and assorted debris. That outfit did feel familiar somehow. So did the eyes and hair... someone she'd met, once? Maybe. That didn't feel right, somehow. Digging deeper, letting random memories and associations flow through her mind's eye, a connection hit suddenly and she examined it. Then rejected it... only to draw it back up and re-examine it carefully._

_She opened her eyes and gave the woman a curious look. "Tail-kinker to Ennien."_

_"Got it in one." The small woman grinned. "Evan Wilson, at your service."_

_snicker "Huh." Faith cocked an eyebrow. "I'm going to owe Abby and Vi an apology."_

_"Oh? Why?" The other woman lifted an eyebrow._

_"I told them that the only people I see in Slayer Dreams are real ones, living or dead, except for the ones I drew to me for the Pit battle. Guess I was wrong."_

_"Ah." Evan nodded, then looked thoughtful. "Not wrong, maybe. Not... complete?"_

_"Mind explaining that?" Faith gave her a puzzled look._

_"I'm not sure I can." The other woman's turn to close her eyes, frowning. "Ok... maybe. 'Real' and 'Unreal' aren't quite as solid as people like to think. Like these 'Slayer Dreams' of yours. They encompass real people and real memories that the Slayer Essence sends you, right? Real events, even if they haven't happened yet, or metaphoric echoes of real events mixed to send a message?" Faith thought about that for awhile, then nodded._

_"Yah. I think I'm with you so far. I see past Slayers in some and the events they lived through and died from - teaching dreams. They're 'real' in that they actually happened, but they're 'unreal' in that they happened in the distant past. And the echo of B - Buffy - that I see in my head is a metaphor of my impressions of a real person mixed with a bit of her essence left over in my head. Not 'real', but she is 'real', too."_

_"I think so, if I understand that right." Evan grinned. "I'm feeling my way through this too. I'm not one hundred percent sure how it all works."_

_"Join the club. Apologies - it's not a real exclusive one or anything." Faith grinned, and the other grinned back._

_"It's ok. I've never been all that exclusive a person," she remarked. "The Multiverse is a huge place, and the lines between imagination and 'real' aren't always that clearly marked. The Sea of Dreams touches everything in the Multiverse, and in places like this, it can allow them to flow both directions."_

_"Sea of Dreams?" Faith frowned._

_"Sea of Dreams. The... what flows out of the Mind of the Dreamer. The One Who Dreams." Evan made a frustrated gesture, "For all of this to exist, Someone had to Dream it all up into existence. The One Who Shapes and Creates."_

_"Sounds like God," Faith's frown grew even deeper. "Yanno? Might sound funny coming from someone who kills vampires, fights demons, and who's seen Hell and __knows__ that it exists... but I don't believe in God. Gods maybe, but not God."_

_"I don't either," Evan laughed. "Not in the sense that you mean it or a lot of people mean it."_

_"All powerful, all knowing, all seeing, all loving and shit?" Faith snickered. "Haven't seen much evidence of that." Her brow furrowed, "Prolly a good thing, too. If I had seen hard evidence of some omnipotent Being who set all of this in motion, knowing how it would go, and who causes - or allows - all of the crap I've seen to happen just because it fits some Cosmic 'Plan'... I think I'd be forced to find some way to hunt Him/Her/It down and do a Dell Ammo on its ass."_

_"Hah." Evan nodded, "Have to say - I'd be inclined to help you."_

_"In the hands of Infinite Power and Infinite Sadism, yeah," Faith gave her a wolf's grin. "That just doesn't work for me. It's not that I __can't__ believe that's the way the universe works - it'd fit reality - I just __don't__ believe it."_

_"I understand. I agree with you, even," Evan nodded again. "No... there is a Will to the Universe, but it's not a conscious one, I don't think. Something set the Dream and the Great Wheel in motion and everything flowed out of it, and there's a beginning and end to things and an inevitable conclusion. But the Dreamer doesn't watch the show and manipulate the parts to make things happen or flow any certain way. They just... flow. The Sea of Dreams - the essence of the mind of the Dreamer if you would - gives shape and cohesion to the flow, and connects it all together."_

_"'Cohesion'. If you're going to go using big words at me and shit, I'm waking up," Faith said in a sardonic tone. Evan snickered._

_"Yeah, right. You're about as stupid as I am, pretenses to the contrary," she said._

_"Hey - I'm just a mindless thug, din't they tell you? Beat, rend, kill. Party much after." Faith grinned._

_"Right." The smaller woman shook her head, smiling. "That's kind of a bad thing in a way, that 'Unconscious Will'. It leaves an enormous amount of room for various Powers, the Source, Elders, smaller gods, and so-called 'Ascended Beings' to set themselves up as arbiters of how the flow should go, and as shapers of it."_

_Faith snorted, "Yeah, so I've noticed." She lifted an eyebrow, settling herself in more comfortably. This really wasn't giving her any insight into her waking world problem, unlike a lot of slayer dreams, but hey - she wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere, and it was proving interesting. Besides, the idea of waking up to pain and unhealed injuries didn't really grab her much. "So... multiverse. That means, I guess, that you're real somewhere, just here you're a fictional character. Which is why I was able to draw you into a slayer dream of mine for whatever reason."_

_The other woman gave a startled look, "Right. I did get kind of off track there, din't I?"_

_"No worries. Didn't mind the detour or I'd have grabbed the wheel."_

_"Ha. Yeah... basically. Real and Unreal aren't all that discrete. Some things are just fiction... but sometimes, an especially strong dreamer or an especially lucid imagination can dip into the Sea of Dreams and pull out an impression of things from elsewhere along the line, and it influences and shapes their imaginings."_

_Nod. "Multiverse. Multiple worldlines?" Faith's brow furrowed again._

_"Yes." Evan nodded. "There's not just one Universe. There's a not quite infinity of them. Some of them are reflections or minor variations of each other - places where the possibilities took branching paths; some of them are so strange that they'd be unrecognizable as 'reality' to someone from a different set of probabilities."_

_"Huh." Faith was quiet for some time after that, gazing off into the depths of the trees. Her companion __let the silence gather and fall between them, not breaking it._

_"You know?" Faith stretched finally, wincing when her shoulder twinged at the movement. "When I was in that eight month coma, I had a lot of dreams. Different lives... none of them mine, but I was in all of them. My lives... but not?"_

_Her companion nodded, "Yes?"_

_"Kinda like Harmony's bank of TV's," Faith closed her eyes and leaned her head back. "There was one... it came back over and over, even after it played itself out. I came to Sunnydale to try and find a place, like I did here, and found one. Not some 'Faith version' of Buffy's Scoobie Gang, but friends, hunting partners... family. Things still went bad at points between me and B and the Watchers an' all, but... it didn't go quite as bad as it did here. And I didn't do it by myself until it all crashed in on me."_

_"Bad kind of goes with the territory sometimes," Faith couldn't see the other woman's sympathetic expression, but she could feel it in her tone. "It doesn't always have to be crushing bad, though."_

_Faith nodded, "Yeah. Bad I can deal with - I never knew 'good' growing up. Crushing bad... there's only so much you can take, you know? Before you start giving in to it and feeling that's all you rate. And start creating more of it."_

_"Yes."_

_"This... this Faith though, that didn't happen to her. She managed to pull herself back from it, with help, and did something else. Became something else." Faith paused for a time, not opening her eyes.. "What I'm asking, I guess, is... was that a reality? Or was it just something my head made up while I was out of it?"_

_"Does it matter?" Faith thought about the question for a long time, and Evan let her._

_Finally, she looked inside of herself, searching, and came up to the surface. She met her companion's eyes evenly. "Yes. It does. I need to know if there's places out there where I didn't fuck up, where things went right or at least better. Versions of me where things didn't go all to shit just because I was a part of them and that's the only effect I was capable of having."_

_Evan considered that for a time, and looked off into some distance, then nodded. "Yes. It was real. This worldline is an Anchor Line: a number of realities and reflections flow outwards from the choices and events here, like ripples from a rock."_

_She paused, then added, "The other 'you' wasn't you though. She was a different person after all that happened, and she became something different."_

_"That's ok, really. She started out the same... same influences," Faith shook her head. "Not like I'm going to try and find some mage to insert me over there and go take over her life or nuthin'. I'm all past that. I just... wanted to know that I wasn't kidding myself all those months and years, that things __could__ have gone different if I'd made different choices, found different people, y'know?"_

_"I know." Faith's companion smiled, nodding. "You know also, or you need to, that this wasn't as bad as it could get. There are reflection worldlines where the choices you made were worse, and worse __came of them. You haven't done all that badly, in spite of all that you've been through. And you have the opportunity to become something even more than that other Faith did."_

_"Yeah." Faith regarded her thoughtfully. "I'm not looking to escape this life. Been there... I'm done with the fantasies of how 'all this was did to me' and shit. Happened, sucks, and I had a lot to do with it too. I've put paid to all that and accepted that it's what is. I'm just... trying to figure out how to get from here to where I'm going without having to do all of that again. Or without becoming one of those 'something worse' lines you mentioned." She paused, "I didn't have to dream about any of those to see how I could have gone there, how I still can. Scares the shit out of me sometimes." Faith gave a rueful sounding laugh, "Sometimes? Try: all of the times."_

_"Yeah. The darkness is still in there, isn't it?"_

_"Always will be, I think." Faith shuddered. "There's a part of me that likes what I was, and longs to give in to where it almost took me."_

_"You don't have to give in to it. I think you know that now," Evan said. "That darkness isn't necessarily a curse. It's a source of strength, too. You just don't have to become it to use it." She cocked her head slightly, "You'll be ok, Faith. Just keep going the directions you are, and make the best choices you can when you get to them."_

_"'S'all about the choices, yup. Ones we make, the ones we don't," Faith nodded. "Angelus said that... probably the only worthwhile thing that bastard ever gave anyone."_

_"Just because someone's an evil, sadistic bastard doesn't mean they can't make a difference," Evan laughed and Faith joined in._

_"Yeah. Gots that right," Faith quirked a half grin at the other woman. "I know that he really was an evil bastard, but that's something I learned from Mayor Wilkins. He helped to fuck me up a lot, but he also made a difference, too. He showed me that someone really could care, beyond just what I could do for them or because I was a useful tool to them." Faith held up her hand to forestall an objection the other woman wasn't making, "Yeah, I know that there was a lot of that, too: I'm __not__ an idiot. I was a useful tool. But he didn't have to do all of the other stuff he did, the little stuff, not just to use me, aim me, and fire me. I'd have been a weapon for him without all that by that point, just for a paycheck and a bit of attention, and a chance to matter to someone. He didn't have to care, too."_

_"It's never just black and white, is it? Good, Evil, care/not-care, love/hate. It's always all mixed up together in everyone, isn't it." Evan said finally._

_"Yeah, I think so. Maybe less for some people," Faith's eyes were distant. She came back to the clearing and looked at the other woman curiously, "So... why are you discussin' all this with me, anyway? It doesn't seem to really have much to do with the current sitrep, y'know?"_

_"Maybe because the current situation's not all that big in regards to what's going on with you?" The other woman grinned. "You're stronger than your enemy. As long as you keep your head and use what's at your disposal, and within yourself, she really doesn't have a chance at you. Just don't die." Faith snorted, and Evan went on, "All of this though... you have a lot of paths ahead of you, and choices you'll make that will shape things, including yourself. You're going to be... large once you get there. I think that's why you drew me here, out of all of the possible choices you could have drawn. I know __about large, and about choices."_

_Faith regarded her critically, measuring her. "You're a bit of a Power yourself where you come from, right?" The other woman seemed to look into herself briefly, then nodded. "A trickster spirit?"_

_"Not a spirit, but definitely a Trickster," she said. "Your closest analogy here would be your Coyote or Saunaday."_

_"Not mine - I don't think I'm Amerind anywhere in me. But... "_

_"I'm not setting you up for anything, Faith. Or playing some elaborate prank on you." The woman met Faith's eyes straight on, not flinching away from the searching gaze._

_"Not quite where I was going with that, but we can run with it," Faith's lips curled in a half smile. "Why not? Isn't that what Tricksters do?"_

_Evan's voice was full of laughter, "Well... yeah. But I don't think I'm going to prank you. You've had about enough of that, hey? More... " She spread her hands, obviously searching for words. "If you hadn't drawn me here, I probably wouldn't ever have noticed this worldline, or your situation. But since you have... I that find a lot of things here... " She trailed off, then found what she was searching for: "Offend me."_

_"Know that feeling," Faith's tone was ironic._

_"Yeah," those blue eyes sparkled. "So... Tricksters are beings of Change. We like to shake up the status quo. Especially when there's a chance that something for the good might come out of it, if we're inclined that way. Especially if it gives us a chance to kink the tails of those who like to style themselves as 'Powers' and mess with people's lives for reasons that really aren't their business or under their purview."_

_"Purview?" Faith's brow furrowed._

_"Authority?"_

_"Ah," Faith nodded, filing it away. Increase your Word Power, the deamwalker's way. "Isn't that kind of hard on the playin' pieces they kinda consider under their 'purview'? If they notice and object? Not sure I like the idea of being some kind of multiversal hockey puck gettin' kicked around so you can joke off the PTB. Gets kinda rough on the puck."_

_Evan shrugged, "Then don't play. When you get to those choices, follow the ones that take you in the direction this 'PTB' has laid out for your 'Destiny'."_

_"snicker I could hear the air quotes around 'destiny' like you wrote it in fire," Faith grinned. "Take it you don't think much of that concept?"_

_"To quote a certain wise young woman I've met: 'It gets kinda rough on the puck'," Evan grinned, and Faith laughed. "No, I don't think much of the concept. Our destiny is what we make of it. The flows of the Sea of Dreams aren't graven into stone channels, to mix some analogies. Trying to make them so often screws up more than it helps... only the Dreamer really has 'authority' to reshape the Dreaming. __And He/She/It doesn't."_

_"And you know this becuz... ?" Faith's voice was dry, but her eyes were delighted._

_"Becuz I'm a product of the Sea of Dreams, and I've been around for a long time. Hundreds of Names, hundreds of faces. I've traveled those Seas to and fro a long way, and observed a lot," Evan said. "Maybe not quite as much or for as long as the Shrugger of Thunder has... but I get around," she winked._

_"So... " Faith pursed her lips with a thoughtful expression, "We come back around again, and the circle's back where we started."_

_"So... " The other woman shrugged. "When you come to those choices that others have laid out for you, if you don't like where they take you or where you see them taking you - Choose and Choose Again. You are what you Choose. Simple as that."_

_"Simple, not easy, right." Faith snickered again. "Got that part."_

_"Yup, to steal a phrase." Evan inclined her head, eyes merry. "I'm not a fan of making other people's choices for them. No one has that right, nor that authority. No one, not mortal nor immortal, has that right. It renders free will and autonomy irrelevant, and that's an offensive thing." She paused, considering, then... "Since you drew me here out of the Sea of Dreams by whatever touched you in the book you found me in... I made a choice to let you know that there's broader choices out there than any 'Destiny' you're being force fed. Offer you at least some of the knowledge that might help you pick the choices that are right for you, when the time comes - not 'right' for some idiotic Powers. For you." She met Faith's eyes evenly, "But I'm not going to trick you or force you into it. Choose and Choose again. Whatever you choose - you'll become more than you are. But you might choose to become all that you are."_

_"But you won't tell me what that is," Faith remarked._

_"I can't." Evan's eyes became sad. "I'd like to, but on this... I can't. Telling you might remove those choices from you."_

_"Heisenberg's?" Faith suggested._

_Evan raised an eyebrow. "Presence of the Observer? I'm impressed."_

_"Hey - I read a book, once." Faith snickered. "Go figger, huh?"_

_"Whoda thunk it," she laughed in return and examined Faith carefully, with a newer respect. "You __don't__ use that just to put yourself down, do you? There's really a lot more to you than meets the eye, isn't there."_

_"Thanks ever so for noticing," Faith said. They both laughed. Faith cocked her head sardonically, "I'm really __not__ stupid, you know. But... it helps to have people still think I'm ignorant. Shows them what they want to see - what they expect to see."_

_"I can see where that would be useful, yes," her companion said, gravely. "Hrmmm... maybe I do have __something to offer on your current business."_

_Faith lifted an eyebrow, "Yes... ?"_

_"Your opponents will give themselves to you, if only you'll let them. Just be careful that you don't give yourself to them, first." Evan looked thoughtful, "I suspect that you were already figuring that out, and how to apply it to the problem. Maybe this will help you shape your options."_

_Faith looked at her, then into the distance, running that through her mind's eye in connection with the half-formed ideas she'd been assembling for dealing with her vampire issue. She came back to the discussion and nodded. "Thanks. I think it did make a few things click, or it will."_

_"No problem. Its source is from something you haven't encountered yet, but you will at some point. I don't think it'll hurt to draw the reference back to the here and now." Evan raised an eyebrow, "It's a good operating principle for a Warrior."_

_"'Warrior'." Faith rolled the word around on her tongue and tasted it. "That's just a ten dollar word meaning 'Killer'."_

_Evan regarded her, then pursed her lips and lifted an eyebrow. Not quite granting the concession, but not contesting it, either. "That's not all that it encompasses."_

_"S'ok. That which I am, I fucking am. I'm all right with that, now," Faith regarded her back. "I'm just a lot pickier about what I kill and why, these days."_

_"And therein lay the entirety of the difference," her companion stated. "Warriors choose, and they kill - or don't - for something more than just battle lust and convenience. Killers don't have that anchor."_

_Faith was silent for a time, thinking that one through carefully. She considered her past, and then the Pit and the things she'd seen and felt there and the insights that had come from that darkling place. She nodded. "Point taken. I'll remember it."_

_"It's a good distinction. There's others, but that one is a good one to hang on to, if you need an anchor," Evan said. She trailed off after that, and they sat together in a more or less companionable silence for some time. Finally, after a long while had passed, the smaller woman sighed and stood easily, picking her quarterstaff up from its resting place and settling it firmly in her hand._

_"Leaving already?" Faith asked._

_"It's been longer than you're aware of, and I believe that your Reality is beginning to intrude upon your awareness," the woman smiled, looking down at her. Faith felt a... rippling around her, that was the only thing she could think of to describe it._

_"So it is," Faith drew her feet under herself and stood easily, regarding the smaller woman. "Will I see you again?"_

_"Maybe... " Evan cocked her head, considering. "Maybe not. It's hard to be certain." She sighed, "You drew me here because you needed me, or someone like me. It's hard to know if you'll have that need again, or if you'll reach into the same places again if you do."  
__  
"Yeah... " Faith nodded. "If not... take care of yourself, y'hear?"_

_"You too," the Trickster regarded her, eyes soft. "Choose well, Faith. And Be Well, also."_

_"Will do," Faith nodded as another rippling sensation came and went. "By the way... you ever end up in a dreaming with a guy named Andrew Wells... if you ever even __breathe__ to him that I once read a Star Trek novel, I'll find a way to hunt you down on the dreamways and hurt you badly, got it?"_

_"Got it," Evan replied solemnly, eyes twinkling. She grinned suddenly, blue eyes fierce, "And when you get back, kick that broad's tail for me, hey?"_

_"Ha!" Faith nodded, eyes bright. "Damn straight." She grinned back as the rippling came again, dissolving the dream ways around her... "She's gonna give herself to me, because I'm going to sucker her in and let her."_

And then there was darkness, and pain, and a heaviness to her that she hadn't felt in that other place. _"... sucker her in and let her, damn straight,"_ she heard herself murmur.


	12. Chapter 12: We own each other now?

**Chapter 12: **_**"This mean we own each other now?"**_

(Day 8; _Friday, December 12, 2003_)

_'Dark out there and it hurts. ow.'_ She was reluctant to open her eyes in spite of the aches and the raging thirst and mouth-like-an-ashtray feeling, instead choosing to lay still and keep her breathing even while committing her slayer dream to memory. She went over it several times in her mind's eye, making certain to fix all of the details: sights, sounds, smells, textures, and voices in her memory, as well as the words and events. _'Thanks, Evan. I don't know why my mind picked you to draw here... but I think I'm glad it did,'_ she sent down the connections to her dreaming self. Hopefully it would make it across, somehow, somewhere.

She'd read somewhere once that 'normal' people often dreamed in black and white, not in full technisenses like a slayer. She felt a bit sorry for them: as far back as she could remember, all of her dreams had always been in vivid colour. Even before she'd been Called...

She'd been aware since she first swam back to what she was going to laughingly call 'reality', once it didn't hurt to laugh again, that she wasn't alone in the room. She could hear breathing, the occasional movements, and rustling of fabric. Smell the scents of gun oil and leather and male sweat and aftershave, even hear the heartbeat if she concentrated. She didn't have to open her eyes to identify the scents and sounds, she recognized them from... how long ago?

Faith finally decided that she wasn't going to fix things in her mind any deeper and opened her eyes. She immediately groaned and closed them again. Lights - bright, and her head felt like it was going to crack open from the dazzle.

"Easy there," the voice was soft and surprisingly gentle.

She opened her eyes again, a bit more slowly and waited for her vision to adjust, then looked at him without moving. "Hey, Five-oh. Didn't realize you were a medic, too." Faith attempted a lopsided grin, and didn't even want to imagine what it must look like, given the way she felt. "Find a medical degree in your Cracker Jacks?"

O'Brien snorted, and shook his head, "Half dead and out of it. Should have figured you'd wake up a smartass on top of that."

"Stayin' true to type," she whispered. "How long... ?" She tried to lift a hand to brush the hair from her eyes, and looked at it when it stopped short in a leather cuff. "And why am I in restraints? Thought Frank was the one with designs on my tender young bod..."

"Three days," he said. "And you were thrashing around in some sort of nightmare yesterday: they were afraid you were going to hurt yourself. Hurt yourself worse... " He frowned, looking her over critically, and reached over to smooth the hair away from her face. "I'll get a nurse to get you out," he said, reaching for the call button.

"Wait. Talk first, nurses and doctors later," Faith would have shaken her head, but she was afraid it would fall off. Ow. "You can undo them and then put 'em back if you think they'll freak." She curled the corner of her lips up, "Cop - you should be good with cuffs an' shit."

He frowned, considering, then nodded. He undid the cuffs after a bit of fumbling at the buckles.

"S'good. Water?"

"Don't see any reason why not," he picked up the bed control and raised it to a sitting position for her, then handed her a plastic water container with a bendy-straw in it.

"Didn't think water could taste that good," she remarked a few minutes later. "Thanks." She looked down at herself, taking in the tubes and IV, "How bad? Before I do something AMA like gettin' up?"

"Fractured skull. Dislocated and separated shoulder. Massive spinal bruising along the back where you hit that pole. Cracked vertebrae. Four cracked ribs, two broken ones on the left side. Three broken ribs on the right side - one of them sent bone splinters into your lung. And the tears on the left side of your neck over the jugular... "

"Damn. Bitch did a number on me." Faith frowned.

"Yeah," O'Brien shook his head. "They're kind of surprised you're alive. It's probably a good thing we didn't wait for the ambulance: we bundled you into Frank's unmarked and drove you to ER while putting a field dressing on your neck."

"Frank?"

"Giambione showed up off of my backup call just after you passed out."

"Ah." The left corner of her mouth quirked up. "My hero. And I slept through it." She looked at him, eyes crinkling, "No worries. I'm kinda hard to kill. And I heal fast."

"So we noticed," O'Brien gave her a sour grin. "I think the staff wants to write medical papers on you. I convinced them it wouldn't be a good idea."

"Thanks," she whispered. "I don't want to be a lab rat."

"No problem. A lot of the staff here are used to dealing with unusual injuries and keeping their mouths shut. This is where we bring a lot of our... problem victims."

"The ones from the crimes that don't happen committed by the criminals that don't exist?" O'Brien nodded. "Cool. Sunnydale ER was like that, except their rooms weren't as nice. You should have seen the abandoned wing I woke up in after my coma," she made a face. "Hey - why are you here?"

"You saved my life," he gave her an unreadable look, and then lifted a compact submachine-gun off of the window counter. Faith saw it was one of the 'special' 10mm MP5's from the blood farm and her eyes smiled at him. "I'm alternating with Frank on playing bodyguard."

"You saved mine. We're even." Faith got tired of the effort of keeping her eyelids propped up and closed her eyes. "Some cultures that's got kind of a mystical thing going. This mean we own each other now?"

"No. Just a leasing arrangement," he replied in a deadpan tone. Faith snickered, and regretted it.

"ow. Stop that," she said. "Nightmare... ?"

"Yeah," she heard his voice coming from what sounded like a distance away. "You started thrashing around and mumbling 'No. It's not. It's not all I am. It's not... ' over and over again."

"Ah. Yeah.. that was a bad one," Faith murmured. "I think you'd better get that nurse. I'm fading on you... "

**...**

_A nice little apartment, she decided after looking around the place. Stylish, cozy, and it had a homey feel to it that her more expensive and elegant place the Mayor had given her had never had. Of course... that wasn't ever really a home, was it? Faith shook her head. She wasn't going there: all of that was done past, and 'home' or not, it had beat hell out of where she had been living before. She wandered around for a bit, examining the place and the things in it._

"I thought I told you that you weren't allowed to die on me?" the voice from behind her was amused, and slightly exasperated. Faith damned near hit the ceiling jumping out of her skin. She whirled, landing turned towards the source of the voice.

"Jeeze! Don't freaking _do__ that if you don't want me to croak - you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Faith uncoiled, grinning at the other woman. "Heya, C. PTB finally decide to look in on their pet killer?"_

"Not often that I'm able to sneak up on a Slayer. Don't begrudge me my fun," Cordelia laughed, and stepped forward and grabbed Faith into her arms. Faith stiffened under the contact, then relaxed finally and hugged her back. Cordy leaned back and smiled down at her. "No. Personal visit - I dropped in the first chance I had to shake loose."

"They allow you to dial out on the company phone?"

"Don't know. I didn't ask for permission: I _told__ them I was going to," Cordelia grinned, stepping back. She released Faith, but left a warm hand on the shorter girl's arm._

"Gonna get in trouble bucking the bosses, C," Faith shook her head. She cocked her head slightly and gave the dark haired woman a curious - and suddenly stricken - look, "I didn't, did I? Die?" She had sudden visions of dying in the ER and being brought back by one of those electric things. And of another young girl being Called in her place...

"No." Cordelia shook her head, "But it was pretty close." She understood suddenly and gave Faith a remorse filled expression. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to scare you, Faith. Idiotic wisecrack, that was all."

Faith didn't bother with any meaningless 'didn't scare me - I don't scare' bullshit. Never bother with lies that someone else isn't going to believe. "S'allright. Try not to do it again, though."

"I promise." Cordy grinned. She made an 'after you' motion and suddenly she and Faith were sitting on _the comfortable looking leather couch in the living room. "I'd ask you to promise to be careful... but that's kind of hard, isn't it?"_

"Yeah." Faith leaned back, shaking her head. "I am careful. But sooner or later I'm going to run into someone better than me." She paused, "Maybe I already have... "

"Maybe," Cordelia eyes went soft. "Then don't take her by yourself. Call in help and set her up."

"Already working on that. Or was... kinda got derailed by a sudden case of near death," Faith frowned. "I don't want to get anyone else killed by my problem, either. Damned near came too close to that already."

"Faith... if you die, there won't be anyone in the way to stop them from getting killed," Cordelia said softly, shaking her head. "As far as some of your other friends getting killed helping to watch your back, you know as well as anyone that it can happen anywhere, no matter what they're doing. They're in the business, too."

"Yeah... I know." Faith looked at her, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is this where you remind me that B survived all those years because she had all of you guys around?"

"No, this is where I remind you that you _don't__ have to do it all alone any more," Cordelia glared at her. "Buffy is Buffy. I'm not comparing you to anyone but __you__. In fact... the only one that keeps comparing you to Buffy any more is you."_

Faith glared back, then after a moment the corner of her mouth curled up in a lopsided grin, "I'd kick your ass for being right, but someone told me once that it wasn't nice to beat up on comatose people." Cordelia stared at her for a moment and they both started laughing.

"Damn straight," Cordelia said. "Invalids have rights, you know." Faith snickered, and Cordelia grinned back at her, "Quit being so damned prickly. I've already told you that you're not anyone's backup slayer. You're already going your own way - just let in some of the people you keep acquiring and let them help, dammit."

"I know. Guess I'm just having a hard time dealing with the concept that you don't hate my guts any more," Faith remarked. "It brings out the pricklies. But... like I started to say, I was working on just that before I got derailed." She explained what she had in mind, and the groundwork she'd started laying to set it up before the blood farm and the parking lot fight.

"Not bad," Cordelia said, finally. "My apologies. I jumped to the conclusions that you were doing your usual half-cocked charge in thing. You're given this some thought already... " She inclined her head slightly, "A hazard of not having been able to look in on this since the PTB doesn't seem to think it's important, just because it's not an apocalypse level deal."

"Yeah, well... can't say that not having them joggle my elbow with cryptic messages bothers me none," Faith remarked. "They ain't real helpful when they're helpful, if you catch my drift."

"Oh yeah," Cordelia laughed. "Just be glad your vague hints don't come with skull splitting headaches." She looked thoughtful, "They do have some restraints that they can't work around, though, I believe. It makes it difficult to be anything except cryptic."  
_  
Faith snorted, but didn't say anything. She'd decided to keep her previous slayer dream walk under her hat for now... no point in letting the PTB in on it if they hadn't already discovered it and the odd bits of info her dream source had given her. She still wanted to find time to meditate on that one and think through the various implications there._

"Whatever. No offense, C, but that doesn't change my 'damned near useless' appraisal of your bosses any."

"I'm not trying to change it," Cordelia nodded. "I have my own issues with them." She glanced away for a moment and her eyes became distant, then refocused on Faith, "Dammit. I think your reality is starting to call you back to it. I was hoping we'd have more time here."

"I know. I can feel it too," Faith said. "No worries... and thanks." She started to say something else, but instead felt that space starting to dissolve around them both as the waking world drew her back to it, and settled for throwing Cordelia a wink and a grin as she faded out...

"... we're going to have world enough and time, at some point, C, promise. Somehow," she murmured and drifted back into normal sleep before waking up again much later.

**...**

(Day 9; _Saturday, December 13, 2003 - Continuity Note: AtS "Unleashed" occurs around this timeframe_)

Same scents and similar sounds and odours this time when she awakened, with the rustling of pages added to the mix. It didn't take Faith quite as long to fix the details of this dream in her memory, and she didn't need to lay still pretending sleep for as long. No restraint cuffs on her wrists this time. Cool.

It was the younger one, Giambione who met her eyes this time. He was sitting in one of the room's two chairs flipping through a magazine in a bored fashion when she caught his attention by croaking, "O'Brien - you found the fountain of youth and didn't say."

Frank put down the magazine hastily and stood up, coming over to the bedside. "I think me or Obie was just insulted. I'm not sure which."

"I'll never tell," Faith winked up at him. "Water?"

"Sure. Hold on," Giambione raised the bed to a sitting position and poured some ice water from the pitcher into her drinking container and handed it to her.

"Thanks," Faith drained about a quarter of it. "Man... whatever they're putting in this IV, it's not doing much for thirst." She looked at him, "How long... ?"

"It's just past daybreak. So... about eight hours after the last time you went under," he replied. "I'm going to ask a stupid question: how are you feeling?"

"Like I was eaten by bears and shit down the side of a skyscraper," Faith said, sourly. "But better than I did last time."

"Checking," Giambione grinned. "Docs are still all a-twitter - quietly - about how fast you're recovering."

"Yeah. They do that." She looked out the window and at the wan early sunlight streaming in through the blinds. "Don't have to worry about being attacked in my bed for awhile, then." She gave Giambione an impish look, "Well... maybe."

He laughed, "I'll wait until you're recovered at least," and grinned back at her. Something caught her eye on the window ledge and , when she looked around the room, on the counter and table, and her eyes widened slightly. She noticed some other things, familiar ones, stacked carefully in a corner, but left that one alone for now...

"Damn. Who brought the w-- " Faith bit off the sarcasm and swallowed it before trying again, "all the flowers?"

"Let's see... " Frank flipped over a card on one arrangement. "Kirkwood brought these up last time he was here. Those are from the two patrol guys in the squad car that pulled in while you were fighting the blonde. This one's from Major Cases - we all chipped in. The big one over there's from your lawyer." He saw her face and gave her an amused look, "You're a bit of a hero right now."

"wow." Faith shook her head, fighting to keep her eyes from flooding. She wasn't sure if it worked. Damned eyes, anyway. "I don't think I ever got flowers in the hospital before," she said, and her voice sounded small to her ears.

"Never?" Giambione gave her a startled look, raising his eyebrows.

Faith blinked several times and took a deep breath, "I'm not in the hospital often, ever, but... no. Never." She shook her head, "When I woke up from my coma... I was in the abandoned wing of Sunnydale General where they put the people they don't expect to get better. No flowers, no cards... no sign anyone'd been there ever except the staff." She made a harsh noise, "I can't blame any of them really... "

Frank was quiet for a time, looking at her. Finally, "Well, see? Even good things come out of being beaten half to death sometime. Flowers, bodyguards, even visitors."

"Yeah. Visitors?" Something he'd said earlier registered on her, "You said... lawyer?"

"Yeah. You forgot to mention you lawyered up Dean and Sam Winchester on us," Giambione gave her a sour look, then grinned. "Tall black guy from Wolfram and Hart. Charles Gunn."

"Damn - Angel sent Gunn?" That startled her more than the flowers. She'd been expecting a flunky. "Gunn's not my lawyer... he's kind of a bud, maybe." Sort of, she thought. She hadn't had more than time to barely meet him after Wes had broken her out of prison, but she'd gotten to know him a bit, along with Fred, during the month or so they'd stayed at the Hyperion following the Sunnydale collapse.

"Yeah. He wants to see you when you're awake enough. So does Dean Winchester," Giambione nodded.

"Dean's up and around? Wicked." She laughed softly. "What about Sam?"

"Define 'up and around'," Frank said, dryly. "They let him out in a wheelchair now so he won't tear open anything. He's... not real thrilled about it but he's going along with it for now," he grinned. "Sam's better at least. He's been awake off and on since about a day after Obie got him moved into Dean's room."

"Cool. I'm glad," Faith said. Her eyes went hard suddenly, "Anyone else try to get up to see us?"

"No. At least not that we're aware of," Giambione hadn't missed the hardening of her eyes and voice, nor misinterpreted it. Good cop. Lots of donuts. "You've had several visitors, but we don't think they're attached to our playmate. You seem to be a popular girl." Giambione frowned, "There have been people around the entrances to the hospital periodically, but we haven't caught any of them."

"Several?" He nodded.

"Let's see... guy in a suit, talks like a hood. Said his name was 'Vince'. We couldn't dig anything up on him," Faith's eyes widened slightly again. "A big black guy and a skinny white guy with a beard came up yesterday to ask about you at ER - they managed to vaporise before any of the uniforms or plainclothes down there could have a chat with them. Let's see... " Frank took out a small notebook and paged through it, "And a nice looking lady in her forties name of Angela Bassett the day before yesterday," Faith shook her head, the name not ringing a bell at the moment. "She has a doctorate in homeopathic and alternative medicines. Said that you'd called her about consulting on the Winchesters? She was up the night of the attack also, but didn't get in to see anyone." He paused, "She checks out, as far as we can tell."

"Oh yeah... I did call her. Wanted her to look at Sam Winchester." Faith said, "Name just didn't register. Sorry - not tracking real well, it seems." She drank some more water.

"Not surprised," Frank shook his head. "Even with your faster healing, a fractured skull will do that to you," he remarked in a dry voice.

"Yeah... " Faith's reply was distracted. "Ok. If it really is Vince... he's a friend. Did the big black guy have tattoos along the back of his head and neck? And real dark sunglasses?"

Giambione checks his notes, "According to the description we got... yeah." He nodded.

Faith nodded slightly, surprised to find that her head wasn't splitting any longer. "He's ok too, then, and the bearded guy." She paused, "Just in case... better send any of them that come back to see me first so that I can check them out."

Giambione's eyes went suddenly hard. Interesting... "No one is coming up to see you unless either I or O'Brien are in the room while you check them out," he said, softly.

"Thanks. Down boy. Good boy. Scooby snack," Faith gave him an amused look. "Appreciate that. I will need to talk to them alone afterwards, though."

"Sure," he nodded agreeably. His eyes relaxed as quickly as they'd gone cold. "I'm sure your man eating laywer will make sure we adhere to all the proper privacy procedures."

"I'd snicker, but my ribs hurt when I do. Consider me snickering." Giambione laughed. "So... I see my stuff made it up here?"

Frank nodded again, "Obie and I decided it wasn't a good idea leaving it for any of our playmate's friends to paw through or steal. We convinced the hotel manager to let us clean out your room and brought it all up here for you." He gave her an even look, "We didn't go through any of it."

Faith gave him a searching look, then nodded. "My bike?"

"Hidden under a tarp in the parking garage," Giambione said. "Nice bike." He paused for a moment and added, "Your hardware is in the trunk of my car, along with your jacket and long coat."

"Thanks." Faith closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them again.

"Hate to bring this up right now... but any thoughts on our little blonde friend?" He asked, changing topics.

Faith was quite for a minute, "Yeah, I do. I have a plan, I think. It even has an escape route." Giambione laughed.

"That's always a good feature for plans," he said.

"Yeah, so I'm told." Faith's mouth quirked up in a half grin. "I'm going to need to be up and out of here first, though. Speaking of... " She was quiet for a moment, then, "You'd probably better get the docs and nurses so we can see about the medical stuff so that I don't have to leave AMA. And I need to see about getting unhooked from all this so I can use the bathroom." Faith thought for a moment, "Cell phone and computer would be nice, also."

"It's in the drawer over there. I'll get it for you after the docs are done, how's that?"

"Suits, thanks," she said. Giambione nodded and picked up another one of the blood farm H&K's from the other chair and got up to head to head out the door.

"Hey... " Faith's voice came out softer than she intended. He paused with his hand on the door and turned back. "Thanks."

Giambione looked at her curiously, "For what?"

"All... this," Faith made a vauge gesture. "I'm not used to cops being... nice. Still trying to adjust to the idea that you didn't arrest me the first time we met, and then all this... " She made a sour face, "And with my record... Let's just say that Southie cops when I was growing up had some different ideas on what their badges entitled them to from girls living on the streets, ok? And all of the Sunnydale cops were corrupt - I had a pretty good vantage point for that. Maybe not the best examples."

"You saved my partner's life, as I understand it," Giambione said. "It's appreciated. We're... not all bad guys, LeHane. Just most of us, these days." He turned again to go out the door, paused with it partly open and turned back to look at her, "Have to admit - you're probably best off running with the assumption that we are until proven otherwise, though. I'll go get the nurses." He closed the door behind him.

"Huh. And damn."


	13. Chapter 13: This five foot five pain

**Chapter 13: **_**"I have this five-foot-five-inch pain in my ass right now, Doc..."**_

Poked, prodded, and examined. There was nothing she liked more than having lights shone in her eyes, being asked idiotic questions, and treated like a rack of rather bruised meat. Grrr. If she hadn't been able to tell with her inner sense that she was still pretty badly hurt, in spite of feeling enormously better than when she'd first woken up... she'd be inclined to get up and walk out as she had from Sunnydale General after her coma. Grr, and grrr again.

At least most of the tubes were out now. She still had an IV drip on a rolling stand, but she was (grudgingly) allowed to get up and go to the bathroom on her own. And eat - she was actually looking forward to whatever passed for "food" in this place. Also grudgingly, the doctor had accepted finally that most antibiotics and pain killers were wasted o her (she hadn't explained why) and canceled the pain meds they'd been giving her except for a very mild one that he insisted on.

She could see in back of his eyes that he itched to be able to schedule her for every test he could think of or invent. She finally grew tired of arguing with him and, after throwing the "Patient's Rights" pamphlet at him, told him to take it up with O'Brien and with her attorney if the word "No" had too many syllables for him. The combined mention of O'Brien and Wolfram and Hart did make him back off, finally. She found herself absurdly grateful that she and the saturnine detective seemed to have hit it off, even if in a rather wary fashion at first.

Giambione wandered back in as he'd promised a short while after the staff had trailed out behind the doctor to find her muttering viciously as she worked herself back into bed after a brief bathroom run.

"Fucking 'First do no harm' my tender young ass," she looked up at him, glaring.

"I think they took that part out when they revised the Oath," he responded, deadpan.

"It fucking shows," she grinned at him.

"So, how are you doing?" He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"I'd throw something at you if I had anything heavy enough in reach." Faith glowered at him under her eyebrows, then laughed. "I want a two inch thick steak, a stack of cheese burgers, a decent beer - hell, I'd even settle for a commercial beer right now - and a cigar. And a fluffernutter. Other than that? Fucking wunnerful. You?"

"Well... I have this five-foot-five-inch pain in my ass right now, Doc, but... " He ducked, snickering, when she mimed tossing the bedside tray at him. "Make do with the hospital food for now, and after Obie changes off with me, I'll see what I can do about smuggling in the steak and the burgers."

Faith's eyes lit up. "I think I'm in love with you." She made puppy dog eyes at him, "And the beer? Sam Adams or even St. Pauli if you can't find anything better... "

"Nineteen. You're too young to drink," Frank remarked.

"Yes daddy. This would be a bad time to mention that I have ID saying I'm twenty-one, huh?"

"Wrong person, too." Giambione rolled his eyes. "Christ. I'll see what the import shelf at the package store has - just so you won't sneak out later and stick up a bar. Delinquent."

"Wicked. I've corrupted a cop," Faith gave him an unrepentant look. "Oh, wait. Corrupt cop - isn't that an oxymoron?"

"No. It's an axiom," Frank gave her a mock glare. "I'd say to knock it off or I'll have Obie spank you - but you'd probably enjoy that." Faith stuck her tongue out at him, laughing. Giambione gave her an even look, "One of these days, I'd like you to explain to me why you have such a low opinion of cops."

Faith sobered slightly, and gave him a serious look back. "You've been pretty nice to me, Giambione. And not just because I kept blondie from getting past me to O'Brien - you haven't given me a hard time once since we first met." She nodded. "Deal. We live through this, and I'll tell you, in detail. Have to warn you - you won't like it or my reasoning."

"I don't have to like it. I just want to know it." Giambione shrugged. "I came to the conclusion years ago that life doesn't give a flying rats ass what I do or don't like." He dug her cell phones out the drawer, and picked her laptop case up off of the pile of her stuff, "Here you go. I seem to remember I said I'd get these for you."

"Thanks," she smiled. She took out the laptop, and looked around for some place in reach to plug in the AC adapter.

Giambione took it from her and found an outlet within reach of the bed. "You want me to go out while you're making calls?"

Faith gave him a speculative look, then shook her head. "Naw. Not right now." She made an expansive gesture to the chair he'd been in earlier. "Make yourself at home - if I need to talk to someone privately, I'll let you know." He nodded and picked up his magazine again, setting the Hk back down within easy reach. Faith thought for a moment... "If you do go out later.. mind letting Dean know I'm up?"

"Sure. I've been getting homesick for being 'Bringer of the Donuts' down at the squad room - it'll be good to play secretary for you."

"Smart ass," she made a face at him, getting a smirk in return. She frowned, something that she'd wondered about niggling at her mind. Biting her lip, she tried to decide if she really wanted to ask and get an answer to the question...

_'No. I don't,'_ she thought. _'But I have to know... '_ Faith worried at her lip for a moment more, then turned to look carefully at Giambione with what she hoped was a neutral expression. "Hey... Frank?"

Giambione looked up from his magazine, "Yeah?"

"How many?" Faith heard her voice come out flat and hated the sound. "At the restaurant... how many?"

It must affect Giambione the same way, she thought, for the cop mask dropped over his features almost instantly. "Five. Two cooks and a waitress in the kitchen, a busboy who walked in on her while she was killing them, and an assistant manager who got in her way at the front on the way out."

"Crap." He nodded.

"Yeah. Lucky it was early and a slow night, or it might have been more." She nodded back at him, eyes stricken.

_'Damn. I had to ask.'_ Faith frowned at the phone, blinking furiously and trying to decide who to call first. _'Get business out of the way first. Friends after,'_ she decided. _'Then regrets for the dead...'_ Making a choice, she picked a name off of her contact list and hit dial. After a few rings, a male voice picked up on the other end.

"Charles Gunn speaking."

"Hey Chuck. It's coma girl."

"Faith! Hey girl - back with the living, huh?" Gunn chuckled, "You looked like warmed over roadkill when I was up to look in on you."

"Gee. You certainly know how to make a girl feel all special and shit," Faith said in a sour tone, and hear Giambione snicker from his chair. "Heard you came up, thanks. Can you make another trip over?"

"Sure. Mind if I come by a bit after lunch?" Gunn asked. "I need to drop in and consult with the Winchesters today also."

"No probs - see you then?" Faith hesitated for a moment, then said, "I'm half surprised Angel and Wes didn't ride in with you."

"It was being discussed, girl." Gunn's voice was dry. "They were finishing wrapping up on a problem with just finished dealing with, so I came down instead to scope things out."

"Wicked. To baldly go where no attorneys have gone before," Faith snickered.

"Hey now. Don't be dissing the 'do, girl." There was a pause on the other end, "Glad to hear you sounding so good. Way you looked worried me."

"Yeah... hey: you should have seen the other gal. I hit _**her**_ with a truck," Faith laughed, a bit grimly. "Also a bit surprised they sent the heavy guns, pardon the pun. Was expecting a local attorney."

"Yeah, well... we decided that having someone who had experience dealing with demons and vamps if needed was a good idea. So you got me." Gunn paused again, "Besides, there's a few things I need to talk over with you when I get there."

"Coolness. See you when you get here, then." They chatted a bit more, then Faith clicked off the phone. She picked another number off the list after a bit of thought, and dialed it.

The voice on the other end this time was cautious. "Yes?"

Faith grinned, then said, "Heeerrreee vampy vampy vampy! Hic!"

"Hey." Wow - was that actual pleasure in the big man's voice? "Good to hear you."

"Yup, your adopted foundling. I'm back to what I jokingly call consciousness again."

"Good. Someone once said that not dying was a good thing," Blade's voice was still slightly amused sounding. "Noticed you had a lot of police interest. Need a jailbreak?"

Faith laughed again, "No, these are friendlies, amazingly enough. They're guarding the tender young bod so I don't have a relapse." She paused for a minute, then added, "You guys come back up? Need to talk."

"Maybe. Not real interested in having intimate conversations with your bodyguards," Blade's voice lost its amusement.

"Hrrm. Yeah... " Faith was thoughtful for a moment. "Ask for a Detective O'Brien or Detective Giambione. I'll clear the road for you. They're... our kind of good guys." She saw Giambione raise his eyebrows and shake his head slightly from his chair and winked at him.

There was a long pause on the other end... followed by: "We'll be up tonight, see how it goes." He clicked off and she looked at her phone for a long moment or two, smiling slightly.

She realized after hunting through her list that she didn't have a cell number for Vince, so after making a mental note to get one when she had the chance, she sighed and picked another one off her list. Faith regretted having to leave this hanging the way that she had, even though it hadn't exactly been her choice.

A rich, throaty female voice answered on the fourth ring, and she said, "Ms. Bassett? This is Faith LeHane."

"Miss LeHane. I'm pleased to hear your voice," the other woman replied.

"Yeah. Apologies for not being able to meet you the other night like we'd planned. Something came up." That was the understatement of the month, Faith reflected. "And it's 'Faith', not Miss LeHane."

"So I'm given to understand. And nonsense, Faith. You can hardly be chastised for missing an appointment due to having a more pressing one with the Emergency Room."

"Yeah... " Faith shook her head. "Still... I'm more sorry that we didn't get to take care of what we were going to, than for missing the meeting, if you catch my drift."

"Ah. Yes. I'm going to assume that you're being overheard on your end, then," Ms. Bassett remarked. "And, not to worry. I took the liberty of taking care of that matter while you were indisposed, after the other young gentleman had been moved into his brother's room."

"You did? Really? How?" Faith's surprise was clear to her own ears - Giambione had to be working at studiously ignoring her end of the conversation.

The woman healer's voice had a bemused tone. "Lets just say that an Avoidance charm works wonders for getting into places that are watched, if one is careful."

"wow. Cool - I don't know how to thank you for going to all that trouble," Faith began...

"You can thank me by making arrangements for me to come and see to you this afternoon. It is a bit harder to gain access when there's someone actually in the room with you constantly."

"Well, sure. I kind of already did that by letting them know to have you see me first if you came by again," Faith felt herself grinning suddenly.

"Excellent. I'll be by late this afternoon once I finish with my other appointments."

Faith ended that call feeling cheered. It was nice to see something break for the good on occasion. Her phone calling agenda was interrupted by the nurse bringing in lunch, and she put phone and laptop aside to dig in. For hospital food... either it wasn't bad or she was hungry enough that it didn't matter.

**...**

Dean came up in while she was finishing the last of her meal and looking dubiously at what the hospital was optimistically calling a 'dessert'. At the knock, they both looked to the door and then Giambione picked up his firearm and cautiously went to ask "Who is it?" while standing slightly off to one side. When the answer came back, he shot Faith an inquiring look and getting an enthusiastic nod in return, opened it.

Dean wheeled himself in with a grudgingly thank you nod at Giambione and then looked at her in surprise. "Hey! You're awake!"

"Hey tough guy," Faith grinned at him. "So I am."

"When did this happen?" Dean looked torn between glad she was conscious and exasperated that no one had told him.

"Well... yesterday, but that didn't last very long before I passed out again." Faith gave the 'dessert' another dubious poke. "Since this morning this time, followed by the doctors and nurses poking at me for the next several hours."

"Ah." He gave her a sympathetic look.

"I'll give you two some space," Giambione interrupted them from the doorway. Faith shot him an amused look.

"Going to leave me us alone without strip searching him first? I understand he's a dangerous fellow with all sorts of illegal weapons and shit," she winked at Frank, ignoring Dean's outraged 'Hey!'. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"You just want to have fun watching the strip search. I'm on to you," Giambione shook his head and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Damn," Faith remarked, looking at Dean with a bland expression. "Shot _that_ plan all to hell."

"What would you have done if he'd taken you up on it?" Dean gave her another half amused look.

"Watched and made wolf whistles and stuck dollar bills in your undies. Or somewhere... " Faith amended, giving a pointed look at the backless hospital gown he was wearing.

"Never mind. I don't even want to hear where you'd find to stick them," Dean laughed. "I'm glad you're ok," he added in a more serious tone. "You looked pretty bad the other day."

"People keep telling me that," she said. "Thanks. It's good to know I'm going to live." Dean nodded.

"Know the feeling," he said in a rueful tone. "And I should be thanking you: that healer you found made her way up and did something for Sam. Warded our room, also."

"No worries. Told you I was going to, right?" Faith smiled. "How's... ?"

"He's better. He woke up for most of this morning, then went back into a regular sleep. He may be up and around in a day or two," Dean's face was relieved, and she felt better about things than she had since she'd found out the blonde had targeted them to get to her. "Also gather that we have you to thank for O'Brien leaning on the staff to get Sam moved from ICU. And for the lawyer."

"Heh. I don't think I'd mention that last to O'Brien," Faith snickered. "According to Giambione, I ruined their best laid plans for unfair leverage on you two."

Dean raised an eyebrow and looked concerned, "Were they pissed at you?"

"No. Frank was joking when he said it," Faith shook her head. "I'm getting the feeling I walk on water as far as the two of them are concerned. It's... an uncomfortable feeling."

"I heard a bit about the fight. Bits and pieces,anyway. I'd say it was earned," Dean gave her an even look. "What happened? Slightly more detailed version, I mean... "

"Can you wait til tonight for that, maybe?" Faith sighed. "I'll tell you about it... but Gunn's supposed to come up this afternoon, and then the healer lady to see me. I'd hate to start and then get all interrupted."

"Sure," Dean nodded agreeably. He raised up slightly so he could look at her tray, and made a face. "Don't eat that, for gods sakes. Use it to caulk the bathroom tiles."

"Ah. I wondered," Faith gave up on the dessert and pushed it to one side, grinning. They made more general conversation for an hour or so until Giambione rapped at the door.

The younger detective stuck his head in and said, "Evil bloodsucking lawyer alert."

"No. That would be his boss, except for the 'evil' part," Faith said. "Send him in?" Giambione nodded, and held the door open as Gunn came in through it, holding a flower arrangement.

"Hey, girl," Gunn grinned at her. "You do look a lot less like road kill today." He nodded at Dean, getting a return nod.

The corner of Faith's mouth quirked up in a half grin. "You do say the sweetest things."

"Part of the Plan," Gunn winked. "I'm softening you up so that when I pay you a real compliment it sweeps you off of your feet."

Faith made a face at him, and Dean excused himself. "I'll head back to our room to check on Sam and let you two talk." He caught Faith's eyes, "Come back over tonight and we'll talk some more?" She nodded.

Gunn let him out, saying "I'll be over to talk to you in a bit, when Faith and I are done. We need to go over a few things from yesterday." He shut the door behind Dean, and opened his briefcase to pull out a CD case. He brought it over to lay on the bedside table, saying, "Wes sent you some stuff that he managed to dig up on your problem. He also said to tell you that he and Angel were concerned. Fred and Lorne send their best also." Gunn indicated the flowers.

"Cool. When you check in, tell them... I'm ok, really," she gave the flowers a surprised look. Gunn nodded, and took out a small device from his briefcase and waved it about the room before saying anything else. Watching it carefully, he finally nodded again in satisfaction and turned back to her, putting it away.

Gunn opened his mouth to start to say something, then closed it again, looking thoughtful. Shaking his head, he started again, "Not quite sure how to say this one, so I'll just blurt it out." Faith gave him a curious look. "Spike's back."


	14. Chapter 14: He got better

**Chapter 14: **_**"Yeah he was, but he got better... "**_

"What the _fuck_, over?!" was all that Faith could manage in response to that one. At first she'd just looked at Gunn, incredulous, then slowly registered that he was serious and not yanking her chain. "How the hell did that happen? I saw him... ok, I didn't see him, but... B said he was... "

"Yeah, he was." Gunn shook his head, "He got better." He made a shrugging motion.

"Well... fuck me." She leaned back to process that one for a bit before giving him a hard look. "How the... No, wait. More important: does Buffy know about this?"

"No. He doesn't want anyone to say anything about it to her," Gunn shook his head. "And he's not completely 'back', I guess. He's incorporeal at the moment." She raised an eyebrow and he spread his hands apart, "Hey - magic, what can I say? You know that amulet?" Faith nodded, biting her lower lip. "It was mailed back to Wolfram and Hart, to Angel, and Spike's... ghost, I guess, came out of it. He's been wandering around bitching ever since while we try to figure out how to rematerialize him."

snicker "I can picture that - the bitching and all," Faith shook her head again. "When?"

"Not long after Wes came back from Jersey City."

"Wes didn't say anything... " Faith felt an inexplicable pang go through her at that. Wes still didn't trust her completely, it seemed.

"Spike didn't want anyone knowing about this, Faith. Not you, not Buffy, not Dawn." Gunn shook his head, "Angel and Wes were the ones that decided to tell you anyway, regardless of Spike's say-so." He grinned, "Gather that fang boy and Wesley aren't completely concerned with what Spike does or doesn't want." He gave her a serious look, "But keep it under your hat?"

Faith mimed pulling her non-existent hat brim down. "Secret's safe with me, Gunn. Considering I'm not a part of the IWC any more, I don't have any reason to tell them _everything_ I discover." She made a sour face, "Besides... I don't think Buffy and I are on speaking terms at the moment. Our last conversation didn't go so well."

Gunn made a sympathetic face, "Should I offer condolences?"

"When I figure that out, I'll let you know." Faith gave him a rueful look, then considered for a moment. "It's too bad that that has to extend to Dawn, though. I'm not sure how she feels about Spike after all that insanity from the First, but she'd probably want to at least know so that she can figure it out."

"Maybe." Gunn looked doubtful. He didn't really know either Summers all that well, except for the brief period they'd stayed at the Hyperion following Sunnydale's collapse into the earth. "Why not let us find out if we can figure out how to make him corporeal first, and then let Spike figure out what he wants to do."

"Yeah, I suppose," Faith looked considering. "But after that... if he doesn't do the right thing, I may kick his ass - _hard_ - and then tell Dawn myself. She's been hurt enough: she doesn't need to be crapped on any more." With an effort, she dismissed that from her considerations and looked thoughtful, "Are you sure this isn't some holdover or plan from the First Evil?"

Gunn shrugged. "Or a Wolfram and Hart thing? What's 'sure'? Hell no, we're not." He shook his head, "We're checking into it as best we can."

"Damn." Faith gave the wall a dark look, thinking. "I've thought a lot about that whole mess afterwards. There's always been a lot of parts of that business with the First that... bugged me. Parts of that, like that hidden temple, and that Scythe - supposedly the thing we needed to hurt the First - being right there, always seemed too... convenient, y'know?" Gunn nodded. "I'd hate to think we really didn't put paid to that. That came too close to killing all of us - _did_ kill a lot of us."

"Yeah," Gunn said. "If it helps any?" Faith gave him a sharp look. "That occurred to Angel, as well. Wolfram and Hart didn't want the First ending the world, either - it would have disrupted their Apocalypse plans. We've checked as deeply as we can, and haven't found any indication the First Evil's ability to manifest survived Sunnydale."

"Yeah sure... that's what they _say_, but you know what they say about trusting evil lawyers," Faith snickered. "Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course," Gunn smirked. Faith worried at it for awhile, then shook her head.

"Not going to figure it out now and from here, I guess. And I have a more pressing problem, anyway," she sighed. "Hand me my laptop from over there? I want to see what Wes sent." She gestured at the other chair and her computer. Gunn handed it to her, and she slid the CD into the drive after opening it up, and began browsing the disk, starting with the 'Faith: Read first' file.

...

_"Faith -_

Except for the breed data we've already discussed (and that I've already forwarded to you), I wasn't able to find out very much about your 'Death Dealer' Elora through the usual channels.

However. We do have other resources at our disposal at the moment. Considering what those resources are, you should probably take anything from those with a grain of salt, as do I. Still... Wolfram and Hart does have access to other-dimensional copies of books and volumes that are missing or incomplete in our dimension. This fact has come in handy for us before, such as during that business with The Beast and his Master.

A perusal of those resources has netted me a number of interesting discoveries, including copies of the Watcher's Journals that were destroyed by the First Evil and its minions, as well as copies of Journals from periods where there were large gaps in the Chronicles for various reasons in this reality.

A set of lost Journals covering one of those gaps concerns the period from the mid-1100's, where there was a rather vicious internecine struggle for political dominance between various factions and branches of the Watcher's Council. A large number of volumes and tomes were lost or destroyed during that period, not just Journals, before the various factions fought themselves out and the survivors rebuilt the Council out of the wreckage. (Yes, I am aware that you're probably more interested in the pertinent details rather than the background, however bear with me please - the background is _important here as well)_

I believe that you were finally made aware that you were not the first Slayer to have inadvertently killed a human being or innocent bystander (Yes, I'm aware that there's some doubt as to Alan Finch's innocence, but never the less. I still have my regrets that Giles and myself didn't make you aware of that at the time... ). What you may not have been made aware of is that Buffy Summers is not the first Slayer to have died and been brought back before her death became final, while still retaining her slayer abilities after the slayer essence passed on to her successor. This is something that isn't widely known even within the ranks of the Watchers, so your first Watcher, Diana may not have been aware. Kendra, and then yourself, were not the first Slayers to be Awakened while their predecessor was still living... "

"Huh." Faith paused, thinking furiously. She wasn't even aware that she'd spoken aloud, or of Gunn's questioning look. She went back to the screen...

_"... It is not certain exactly whom was the first Slayer to which this occurred, however it had to be rare given the state of medical science prior to the early 20th century. Until now, it was believed that the earliest instance was in the early 1940's - and that slayer did not long survive her resurrection. I believe that now, if these records are reliable, that I know of a much earlier one._

If indeed this is reliable, then in 1156 there was a young woman named Elora Ménard, a young lesser noblewoman of French and English extraction, who was Called at the age of seventeen in the Traditional manner. Her Watcher's journals, as well as those of her predecessors - and her successors - didn't survive the turmoil surrounding the Watcher's Council's small internal war, and went unrecorded. She was apparently slain - hurled up against a stone wall and her heart stopped - in a battle with several Familiars led by a powerful dhampir of Draaken extraction. She was not drained, and the Familiars were slain by swordsmen in the employ of the Watchers Council and the dhampir (who's name is unrecorded, unfortunately) driven off. While the fight was occurring, her Watcher - who evidently possessed more than a bit of practical magical ability - was able to reach and revive her via healing magics before her death became irrevocable. Not, however before the Slayer essence moved on to Call the next Potential in line...

There are some indications within these Journals that the unusual circumstances of having two Slayers at their disposal was what led to the tensions between the various Council factions to flare up into outright warfare. And unfortunately, young Miss Ménard's Watcher was highly ambitious and politically motivated as a member of the lesser faction. He... there is no delicate way to put this... he used his charge as a fighter and an assassin against the members of the rival council factions. Successfully, I might add: she was a highly skilled and rather arrogant young woman before her death and resurrection, and she became even deadlier afterwards. According to the Journals recording the observations of other contemporary Watchers, she became increasingly erratic as a result of her use as a tool of warfare. (I know that this is going to be an extremely uncomfortable parallel for you Faith - I don't see any way around it, nor to cushion you from it, under the circumstances. My apologies.)

Numerous attempts were made to eliminate her by the Council's hunter teams. None were successful. As a final resort, an attempt was made to have her killed by the second Slayer.

It also was unsuccessful. Elora killed her successor in battle, and then went on to almost completely wipe out the members of her Watcher's rival faction. The Slayer that was Called afterwards was called far away, from a Potential in Russia, and was not discovered immediately.  
_  
Elora survived well into her late twenties, until she encountered and was seduced and Embraced by a Kindrel elder named Lorien, sending her completely over into darkness - not that she hadn't given herself over to it almost completely already by that point. It is suspected that her Watcher was either embraced as well, or else was Ghouled, however this is unknown. His diaries and journal entries cease beyond that point, and none of his contemporaries Journals record what occurred to him. It is entirely possible that Lorien killed him, or perhaps even Elora herself._

What became of Elora Ménard beyond that point is also a mystery. She turns up in none of the later Watcher's Journals that have survived, nor in any other supernatural texts. If indeed she survived - and Kindrel can be very long lived - she managed to successfully avoid the notice of both Slayers and the members of the Watchers Council in the centuries afterward. There are no mentions of her in vampire lore, either, however that is perhaps unsurprising: there are a number of Death Dealers and assassins mentioned in that lore, but very few are known by name. According to Angel, Angelus never encountered her, nor did he ever hear a mention of her by name from his Sire, Darla.

Do be careful, Faith, and take every precaution. Assuming that these documents are accurate - and Fred and I have taken pains to verify them as thoroughly as possible - then this is something that very few other Slayers have encountered: an embraced Slayer. This is not a mere 240 year old Kaineron Master such as Angelus you are dealing with - not to denigrate the dangers that Angelus is capable of presenting. This is a woman who was successful enough as a Slayer to have survived almost to the age of thirty in a highly combat intensive environment, fighting almost constantly. Further... she was a highly trained and highly skilled Slayer before she was corrupted.

If this is indeed the same woman, she is quite possibly what you might have become had the Mayor survived and you had continued in his employ, or if you had not turned away from the blackness following your awakening from your coma.

It also explains her fascination with you and her stalking of you as well as her repeated mentions of Embracing you. It is entirely possible that she sees you as a challenge, not to kill, but to turn to her path as Lorien did her, long ago.

You'll find copies of the missing Watcher's Journals that Fred scanned in on the rest of the CD. I hope that you find information in them that is useful to you.

We are currently embroiled deeply in several rather touchy cases here at the moment, unfortunately. However - Gunn is extremely skilled and experienced, and he's stated that he'll remain in Philadelphia as long as you need him. Do send word by way of Gunn if you wish additional backup: Angel and myself will drop what we are doing and come to you if you call.

Good fortune and good hunting to you, Faith. Do attempt to not die.

Regards,  
Wesley Wyndam Price"

...

"Huh," Faith said again. She looked up at Gunn's somber expression. "Well... fuck me. She's a freaking _Slayer_, to boot? Jeeze."

"Apparently so," Gunn nodded. "Wes and Fred were at it for a long time, in between work on other cases, attempting to verify all of that." He gestured at the laptop. "As near as they can tell, it checks out. Pretty fucked, huh?"

"Huh. Explains a lot. I thought there was something... odd about her to my vampire sense. I couldn't put my finger on it... " She crossed her arms, laptop apparently forgotten on the bed in front of her, staring through a spot on the wall with an odd expression. Gunn started to say something else, then, watching the play of emotions across her face as whatever thoughts she had worked their way through her mind, he decided to hold his peace. They stayed like that for some minutes, until Faith gave herself a little shake and came back from wherever she'd gone...

Faith looked back to the screen and Gunn was incredulous and slightly chilled to realize that rather than being depressed by the information... she was grinning like a wolf. "Cool." She met his eyes again and noticed his expression, "Not to worry, Gunn. I can use this against her: I know for a fact what killing humans does to a Slayers mindset, and where her head was probably at by the time she was Embraced. That, combined the fact that even the most tightly wrapped vampire has to constantly fight against their bloodlust and rage for control of their rationality, gives any number of handles on her that can be used."

"If you say so," Gunn looked dubious. She shot him that disconcerting grin again and waved him off, turning back to the laptop.

"Shoo. Go take care of your business with the Winchesters. Looks like I have some reading and thinking to do... " Gunn shook his head and decided to leave her to it. Her voice stopped him in the doorway on his way out, "Oh, and Gunn? Watch your ass when you leave here. Don't get killed on me."

**...**

It was turning into a busy day already, despite the lack of physical activity. Faith would have much preferred to be up and around rather than reading and researching... but her internal sense was telling her that she still needed the healing time. While it was healing, her shoulder was still tender and hurt when she moved it beyond certain limits. Her head still shot through with sudden sharp pains when she turned it too fast or attempted to sit up too abruptly. Her ribs still ached, even though she could feel the bones knitting when she focused her inner awareness on them.

That worried her: Jasmine's Beast and Angelus hadn't damaged her as badly in her first encounter with them, and the blonde vampire had done all of this with two real strikes and one toss into a lamp-post. Admittedly... Angelus had been toying with her, and the Beast hadn't been exerting himself, whereas Elora had been going full out. Also admittedly, she had been more badly damaged at the time than she had shown to Wesley: that shower in his apartment hadn't recovered her nearly as fully as she'd put on. (In all fairness, she doubted he'd been fooled completely by her "all squeaky clean now - five-by-five" routine. The pressures of the moment hadn't allowed for lengthy recovery time. She hadn't really been fully healed from all of that until several days later in Sunnydale.) If the blonde had damaged her this badly with only slight contact... she couldn't afford to go toe to toe with her again for an extended fight.

It was unsettling to realize that a combination of the blonde's innate arrogance and Faith's being able to hurt her badly enough in the first few moments to push her into almost unthinking frenzy had been the only thing that had saved her and O'Brien. At least this time she'd only been out for three days, rather than eight months...

Then again... that arrogance had worked against Elora, not once, but twice. In both encounters after the one in the ER, Faith had been able to set her up and out think her, using that arrogance against her just as she and Wesley had used the same trait against Angelus. The blonde had come close... but this wasn't horseshoes. The wolf's grin came back over Faith's lips and stayed there as she read.

So... another two, maybe three days of allowing the hospital to provide her a place to rest while her own healing abilities took care of the damage enough so that she could deal with the rest with food and exercise. Not a fun proposition, but she could deal.

Then it'd be time to go on the hunt.

Rubbing her eyes, Faith took a break from the computer screen. One thing she could say about the old Watchers: what they did record, they were complete about. There was more information about the politics of the Watchers in the 12th century in these scanned Journal entries than she probably really wanted to know. Setting her reading aside for the moment, she grabbed her cell phone and checked her messages. Several voice mails from Dawn, as she'd expected, all of them increasingly concerned. Several from Abby, ditto. A number of missed calls that came up "No ID available" on the list.

She picked Dawn's number off of the contacts and dialed it, only to get Dawn's voice mail picking up after several rings. Figures. She hoped that didn't mean that Dawn had hit panic mode and was on her way down here with half the IWC to find out what happened. She left a voice mail of her own and decided to try again later.

A quick email to Giles took care of her obligations there for the moment: she really didn't feel up to an extended conversation with him. They'd have one soon enough, she figured, but for now... a short "I've found the Awakened slayer, and am working on making a change to talk to her and give her the Speech. Sticky situation: she's a police officer and I'm having to take this slowly. I'll be in touch." was going to have to do. It would probably raise more questions than it would answer for him, but if they were going to do this... he was going to have to learn to trust her judgment on a contract he gave her or else they needed to find out now if he couldn't.

If Faith was going to be real honest with herself... she needed to find out if her judgment could be trusted as well.

She sent Wes and Angel longer emails that explained the high points of what happened, and that she'd call soon... Thinking on that, she dialed Perditions and asked the big bartender if he could get a message to Vince to call her when B'yarj picked up the phone. That left her with little to do except continue her reading and think. Oh joy.

A bright spot in the afternoon and one that provided a welcome change from examining the inside of her head came with the arrival of the healer, Angela Bassett. Faith was surprised to find herself taking an instant liking to the older woman shortly after Giambione had shown her in. She asked the detective to make sure that no one else disturbed them and managed to only be partly surprised when Frank cheerfully agreed.

The healer listened carefully to Faith's explanation of what they were dealing with, nodding or asking pertinent questions at the appropriate points. Bassett's visual and magical examination of both Faith's injuries and the room was thorough and reassuringly professional. It was also surprisingly free of chanting and magical paraphernalia. Faith remarked on that after she'd finished her examination of Faith's injuries.

"A slightly different type of magic. Not Wiccan, I'm a Mage," Angela remarked. "Chants, incantations, spell components and designs are a focus, not the spell itself - spellcasting itself is an act of Will that involves channeling and shaping Power." She paused, considering, "I've worked with Wiccans and Witches. Even there, the ritual and component elements are a method of aiding in the focus: they set mood and enhance the proper mindset for shaping power and visualizing the end result. It is possible to do without them."

"Ah," Faith shrugged carefully, favoring her healing shoulder a bit. "Don't think I've ever had that explained to me before."

"It's possible that a number of practitioners you've met may not even be aware of this. Quite a large number of spell casters are technicians rather than artists," the other woman smiled. She had an odd accent that Faith couldn't quite place. "I think that I'm ready to begin attempting to aid your recovery a bit, if you are?"

"Definitely," Faith grinned. "Quicker I can get out of here, the quicker I can go out and get half-killed again."

"Let's hope not." The healer smiled, shaking her head reprovingly, and then concentrated for several minutes and moved her hands slowly along Faith's body, just over the surface. She paused over the places where Faith's inner sense had told her that the damage was worst, then moved on to the next.

Faith felt a relaxing warmth go into her as the woman's hands moved across her without touching, the residual aches slowly seeping out to be replaced by a comfortable painlessness.

"Done," Angela stepped back and surveyed her before nodding finally. "You've healed quickly already, given the extent of your injuries."

"Comes with the territory," Faith stated.

"Yes. I've worked with slayers on occasion," she replied. "This should help to augment your bodies natural healing. I redirected your body's energies to taking care of a few areas that were beginning to have a possibility of healing misaligned, so that you shouldn't experience any future difficulties from them." Angela glanced around, "Would you like me to ward your room now, as well?"

"Yes, please," Faith nodded, reveling in the fact that the motion no longer sent a dull spike through her temples. "I was going to use a charm that I have, but it wouldn't bother me to be able to save those for future use."

Angela nodded. "A charm? May I see it?"

"Yeah." Faith moved her laptop to the bedside table and pointed, "If you could bring that box over here and set it on the bedside?"

The healer went over to the indicated pile of items and picked up the large leather covered box, bringing it over and setting it where Faith'd wanted it. She rubbed her hand over the smooth surface sensually, not quite touching it, but fractions of an inch above the actual wood and leather. "Excellent craftswomanship," she remarked. "A great deal of thought and power went into this."

"Yeah. A... hrmm. Calling her a friend would be stretching things a bit. An acquaintance I've known a long time did the spellwork," Faith said. "A custom maker did the box itself." She opened a drawer and took out the charms she'd been going to use and passed them over to Angela. "The same person that enchanted the box made the charms: Willow Rosenburg."

"Ah. A very powerful practitioner. These are very well done," Angela nodded. She handed them back to Faith.

"Yeah, well, Red does good work," Faith nodded.

Nod. "I believe that for what I understand that you're dealing with, we should be able to do with a greater warding, if you wish to save those for an occassion when you don't have a practicioner available?" Faith nodded, and she continued. "It should suffice to keep out anything short of a major demon unless they're invited in by the resident, or the wards are broken. Inclusive of things or people who've been tainted by such, such as a Familiar, Thrall, or Ghoul." At Faith's request she set the box back in its place and returned to the bed, removing a large jewel from a soft pouch within her bag.

"Thought this didn't require paraphernalia?" At Faith's raised eyebrow, Angela chuckled.

"A powerstone. Stored mystical energy to be drawn upon for a casting," she indicated the jewel. "No paraphernalia, but it does require energy to be channeled and shaped, either my own or outside energy - and this location is too low in mystical energy for there to be enough to draw upon from outside." Faith nodded, and she continued, "For the healing.. your body provides the energy: your body wants to heal, it is just a matter of refocusing where it can do the most good. For this, the energies have to come from elsewhere."

She concentrated again, walking about the room and making odd gestures over the door and windows, then standing in the center of the room with eyes closed and head thrown back for several long minutes. Faith felt at first an odd tingling, then a sensation that felt almost like a static charge building - a charge that was suddenly dispersed and that she could almost feel flowing into the walls and entrances to the room.

_'What the fuck? I don't remember ever being able to sense magical energies before?'_ she wondered. _'I remember Wesley saying that Slayer senses and abilities increase as we get older... Or is this something else left over from the Pit, like the hellblades that bonded themselves to me, or Morgaine's sword?'_

"And Done," the healer said, opening her eyes.

"Cool," Faith said, pushing the questions on what she'd sensed to the back of her mind for now. "Will I be able to play the piano again?"

Angela suppressed a grin. "Only if you could before now."

"Ratz. No, just the guitar. And only if you're real loose on your definition of 'play'," Faith grinned. "Thanks, Doc... We need to figure out what I owe you for all this."

"Yes, but not a pressing issue at the moment," Angela said. "I shall provide you with an invoice on my next visit. If you have questions about it, feel free to come by my shop after you leave the hospital and we can negotiate it." She smiled and gave Faith a reassuring look, "If needs be, we can make arrangements for payments."

Faith waved that off, "No worries. I have medical for the hospital, but I doubt that we want to deal with insurance for this. I'll cover it out of my accounts."

If the older woman was surprised by Faith's offhand admittance that she wasn't hard up for money, she didn't show it. Angela merely nodded and said, "As you wish. I'll go look in on my other two patients now, unless there's something else?"

Faith shook her head, thanking her. After the healer left, she leaned back against her pillows, lost enough in thought that she barely registered Giambione coming back in to resume his magazines and chair.


	15. Chapter 15: It cuts pretty close

**Chapter 15: **_**"It cuts pretty close to the bone..."**_

"So... what're you working on?" Dean asked.

"Background on our blonde un-friend," Faith said, sighing and powering down the laptop and closing it. "An awful lot of it to digest, written by a bunch of stuffy, manipulative old 12th century British twats." Dean made a face. He'd worked his way through more than one stuffy, impenetrable old volume or diary himself doing research.

"You could always try archives of the Weekly World News," he suggested. "More entertaining at least."

Faith grinned. "But less informative. I'll stick with this for now, hard going or not." She lifted an eyebrow, "'Sides - I'm more a Fortean Times kinda gal."

She stretched comfortably, reveling in the relative lack of ache in her shoulder and sides, and stifled a belch. Giambione had come through on the promised steak and burgers, and even the beer - a pair of icy Double Bastard ales from Stone Brewing. He and O'Brien had split the others in the six pack, leaving her another hidden in her saddlebags for later. She suspected a not-so-hidden snark in the choice of ales, but hey - she wasn't going to begrudge it to him. After letting Dean in, O'Brien had wandered off, presumably to park himself outside or find something else to occupy himself with.

"No televison?" Dean gestured to the black screen of the wall mounted TV.

"Kind of lost my taste for it. You can turn it on if you want?" Faith made a face, offering him the remote. He waved it off, shaking his head. "Lost track of stuff I enjoyed when I was in a coma. Didn't re-acquire the habit when I was in jail. And traveling as much as I do... it makes it hard to keep track of newer stuff. As far as the rest of it goes... news is pretty much carefully filtered propaganda. I can get better information from the net and newsblogs. Watch movies when I want a diversion - although more and more of those are crap these days too."

He nodded. "Same for us, since me and Sam have been on the road. I tried watching since I've been here and haven't been able to keep an interest. Ended up browsing cable for old movies and leaving sci-fi channel on for background noise."

"Yup." Faith gave him a thoughtful look, "Promised you a better account of how I ended up in here?"

Dean nodded. "Wasn't going to press. Figured you'd get around to it."

"Yeah... " She thought for several minutes, then told him the full story, starting with the encounter outside of her hotel and including the business with the blood factory. He listened with an interesting play of emotions across his face as she related the fight in the parking lot, or at least her end of it. She didn't downplay any of the battle, but she didn't brag up her part of it either.

"Christ," Dean shook his head, wonderingly. "No wonder you looked like you did when I saw you the next day." He wasn't sure which disconcerted him more: what she related or the matter of fact manner in which she described it.

"Yeah," Faith's voice was flat.

"So... " Dean trailed off for a moment. "Figure out what to do next?"

"Yup. Simple. I'm going to heal up, then go offensive: show her what she expects - shake down vampire haunts and demon bars, make a lot of noise, and create a problem," Faith grinned, wolf like. "And sucker her in, set her up and kill her."

"We're going to set her up and kill her," Dean said, with a grim expression.

Faith gave him an unreadable look, sighing inside. She shook her head, slightly.

Dean's face took on a stubborn cast. "We're a part of this, Faith. I think we have the right."

"You have the right," she replied, nodding. This conversation wasn't going to be enjoyable. "Are you sure you have the ability?" That came out harsher sounding than she'd thought it did in her head, and she didn't know how to take it back. It drew the response she would have expected: Dean's face flushed angrily. _Great_, Faith. Soul of tact and diplomacy, huh? You of all people know how fragile the male ego is...

"Dammit - we've been doing this for a long time, Faith. You're not the only demon hunter out there, you know?" Dean stated, a cold edge creeping into his voice. "She may have been going after you, but when she dragged my brother into this, she made it personal."

"Not what I meant, Dean," Faith replied, softly. "I know it's my fault you and your brother were dragged into this, and I'm sorry. It's my fault Sam got hurt, and I'm sorry for that. I wish it wasn't between us, but it is... And that's not what I meant. Not how I meant it to come out."

"What then?" Dean still had that cold edge to his voice, and his eyes were hard. Not like she could blame him, really...

Faith's reply was almost inaudible, even to herself.

"What?" Dean's voice softened a bit, but his eyes didn't completely lose the hardness.

"I said... I like you, and I don't want to have to look down at your corpse, Dean. I don't want to have to stand across from you over Sam's corpse and meet what's in your eyes afterwards, ok?" Her eyes flashed, "Happy now?"

"No. Not really," Dean's eyes softened a bit and his voice was gentler. "But... yeah." He shook his head, "You can't protect us from this, Faith. We are a part of it now."

"Didn't say you weren't a part of it," the corners of her mouth quirked up. "Meant that I don't want you trying to go toe to toe with this bitch, 's all." Faith shook her head, "Dean... I can pick up the front end of your Impala, raise it until the rear bumper grounds - and hold it like that all day without strain. My reflexes are almost faster than human eye speed. Flat out, I can move almost faster than your eyes can follow." She paused, "And in a straight up fight, this vampire did me more damage in sixty seconds than anything has done since the last time I fought another Slayer. The only reason I'm not dead is because I hurt her so hard and fast that she lost control and then I out thought her and threw her into a moving truck. And then she ran when O'Brien's backup pulled in."

"Then you shouldn't fight her again either," Dean said.

"Not planning to," Faith's lips curled up a bit more. "Planning to set her up and kill her, not go another ten rounds. But she might have other plans... " Her eyes went distant for a few moments, then came back to his. "If it comes to that, I know her style now, and how to use it against her. But she knows mine, too... If she tears into you or Sam flat out like she did me, I _will_ end up standing over your bodies. I don't want that."

"She already did, once," Dean reminded her. Faith shook her head.

"No. She didn't go after you full out. She wanted to do damage and wanted you guys to live long enough for me to get the message, maybe to watch you die. If the cops had gotten the ambulance there a little bit slower... "

Both of them were quiet for some time after that, and then Dean said, "So, you want to keep me and Sam out of it to protect us?" Faith winced, both at the words and at the memories it brought up. "Going to try and keep O'Brien and his partner out as well?"

"No. I saw and heard of someone doing that once. I didn't like it then, and I'm not going to do it now." Faith met his eyes, "If you're up and around by the time I'm ready to go after her, then you're a part of it. I said I wasn't planning to keep you out. But... we're not going to do this stupid. And if someone _has_ to fight her straight up again, it's gonna be me."

"What do you have planned, then?" She could tell by his voice that Dean still wasn't completely mollified. But... he wasn't as cold as he had been, and that would have to do.

"Haven't worked it out completely yet," she admitted. "When I do, I'll let you know." Faith made a face, "This is the second time recently that I've had to deal with something that brute force and a straight up approach wouldn't work for. Tricky isn't something I'm real good at yet... but I'm learning." She frowned slightly, "I have some other backup for us that does 'tricky' a lot better. I want to talk to them and lay all of this out for them before I set any solid plans."

There was another long period of silence between them, this one a bit more comfortable than the first. Finally... "Are we ok, you and me?" Faith asked.

Dean was quiet for a while, then, "I don't know. I'm going to have to think things out some, I guess." he shook his head, and then met her eyes and held them, "I'm trying to not let her targeting us to get to you get between us. It's... not as easy as I thought, and I didn't even realize it was there until you said it."

He left not long after that, back to his and Sam's room, and left her gazing through the wall with her thoughts. _'I didn't blame you for your family demon trying to use me to get to you, Dean... '_ went through her mind, until she shook it away. _'Or for you not warning me it could happen.'_

It wasn't much comfort that she'd managed to keep that thought only in her head where it belonged, and hadn't let it out... but it was something to hang on to. For what it was worth.

**...**

The man calling himself Special Agent Hagerman let himself out of the room, glancing carefully and casually along the hallway of the Marriott as he did so. No one observed him exiting, just as no one had seen him enter.

The empty room, he reflected. At some point following the attack on her, someone had taken care to remove Lehane's belongings and other indications that she'd been there. Probably her police friends. They hadn't removed the wards that she'd put up - probably hadn't even realized that they were there - but those were an impediment only to supernatural beings. Not an impediment to someone who was basically a 'normal' like himself.

The cops had been good, and fast. O'Brien's bundling the Lehane woman into his partners unmarked to rush her to the hospital had been a stroke of genius, whether intentional or not. It had gotten her well away from the scene long before any media people had arrived at the scene of the grisly multiple murder slash parking lot fight at the restaurant. No detailed mentions of the Lehane woman had made news reports on the crime scene other than a brief mention of another woman in connection with the blonde that had fled the scene as police arrived.

Nodding to himself, he moved off down the hallway toward the stairs and the parking lot exit.

Lehane was too well guarded at the hospital for him to approach, and not only by O'Brien's hand picked people. Several of the 'people' watching the various entrances and approaches to the hospital registered as supernaturals to him despite their human appearances.

No matter. He was content to observe and allow things to play out. If Lehane managed to deal with her vampire assailant once she recovered, then that was one thing and he had ways to take care of her afterwards. If she didn't and the vampire killed her, then that was that. If she was turned... then she could be killed afterwards while she was struggling to come to terms with her new nature.

Either way, any of the resulting outcomes would settle a long outstanding bit of unfinished business.

He wasn't so wrapped in his thoughts as he exited the hotel that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. Therefore, it came as more than a bit of shock to him when he found himself unexpectedly grabbed and hurled face forward into a stretch of wall, with a large hand twisting his arm behind his back.

A shock, yes, but not one that was outside of his training or hs experience. He twisted throwing himself against the armhold, catching a glimpse of the large black detective that had managed to sneak up on him and throw him into the wall. The clicking sound of a heavy handgun being cocked somewhere behind but not too far from his head put a sudden end to his attempt to break loose, and he froze.

"I wouldn't struggle, friend," came a soft spoken voice. He twisted his head to see the black detective's bearded partner aiming a large caliber automatic at his head from just too far away to make resistance a good gamble. "Hate to have to fill out a bunch of shooting reports, you know?"

"Let go of me, if you know what's good for you," he snarled out. "You're interfering with a Federal Agent."

"A Federal Agent who was just caught on camera breaking into the hotel room of someone associated with the Philly PD, baby," the big black detective, Colby Burns, sounded amused. He twisted the armlock a bit tighter, raising Hagerman up on his toes. With his other hand, he pulled back Hagerman's sleeve to get a closer look at something he'd glimpsed during the brief not-quite-a-struggle. "Nice tattoo."

Burns pulled Hagerman's other wrist down to join his captive one, snapping cuffs on him. His partner shook his head and remarked, "You can discuss your 'Federal Agent' status with us down at Mid-South. Promise you we'll be all ears."

**...**

Faith hadn't been very surprised to receive visitors not long after O'Brien had gotten a phone call drawing him away to his precinct and had said that he was going to have to leave her uncovered for a few hours. She really hadn't expected these visitors to show up and talk to her cop friends...

O'Brien had been concerned, but had shrugged and accepted when she'd insisted that she'd be all right while he was gone and had explained about the warding. She seriously doubted that he was accepting of the concept of 'magic' on top of everything else... but evidently they'd acheived enough of a rapport that he was willing to trust her judgment. Interesting. She was going to enjoy taking the time to figure the saturnine cop out one of these days, she thought.

Faith had gone back to reading through the files Wes had sent after O'Brien had left. When the door opened and Blade and Hannibal began to slip in quietly, only to be halted by the warding, she'd grinned and uncocked the single action she'd been holding under the covers when she'd heard footsteps pause outside the door. And grinned again when King winked at her, after she'd invited them in, knowing he'd heard the revolver decock before she brought her hand out. Hey - she trusted in wards, but not so much as to be foolish about it.

"Hey! If it isn't tall, dark and monosyllabic and his faithful companion," Faith snickered. "Good to see you."

Blade nodded, and King remarked, "Interesting doorway."

"Magic," Faith said, deadpan. "It wards, it guards, and it's great for annoying wandering smartasses." She laughed at his expression.

"Can't be that good," King smirked. "_You_ were able to get in." She laughed again, eyes sparkling.

"You look good," Blade observed. Faith could read the unspoken question in the slight eyebrow raise that asked: 'Are you going to be up for this?'

She answered both when he met his eyes evenly and said, "Yeah. It cut pretty close to the bone there, but I'll make it." Blade nodded. "Abby?"

"Still guarding the baby Hellmouth you dropped on her. And bitching about not being able to come here, probably." King snickered and winked at her. Faith grinned and made a rueful face.

"Oh well. Have to struggle bravely on, I guess. Glad she's ok." Faith smiled. "Also glad you guys came down."

Blade nodded. "You asked, we're here." Faith suddenly found herself blinking rapidly from the things implied by that simple, flat statement. He raised an eyebrow, "Now, why don't you lay things out for us?"

**...**

Dean was scowling and flipping irritably through the cable channels when Sam woke up again. He watched his brother for several minutes before saying anything, taking in the scowl and the posture.

"Morning," he said, finally.

Dean looked over at him, surprised, and broke into a grin. "Night, actually. How are you... ?"

"Feeling?" Sam snorted. "Like a truck fell on me. Other than that, not bad." He grinned back, raising an eyebrow. "Thought you'd be spending time with Faith now that she's awake?"

Dean scowled again and turned back to his channel surfing. Sam raised his other eyebrow as well, cocking his head. Okay... Dean glanced over at him, "Was."

"Right." Sam shook his head. "So, what happened?"

"Nothing." Dean's voice was flat.

"Right. Bullshit."

"You have a concussion. What do you know?" Dean shot him an irritated look.

Sam returned the look, "I know you." Dean snorted, and Sam snickered. "You may as well tell me. I'm going to keep bugging you until you do, and all of that aggravation is bound to cause me to relapse. You don't want to be responsible for that, do you?"

Dean gave him an exasperated look, and shook his head. "Fine." He related the conversation up to the point where he came back to their room.

"Ah. See? That wasn't so hard," Sam closed his eyes again, feeling himself starting to drift back off. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You're an idiot. G'night."

Dean scowled, shot him a dirty look, and flipped channels again.

**...**

About an hour after Blade and Hannibal left, her phone went off while she was closing her eyes and trying to sort out the information she'd been absorbing. She glanced at the readout, grinned, and flipped it open.

"Hey Dawnie. S'me."

"Faith? Hey - what happened to you?"

"Had my first stand-up encounter with Miss Vamp." Faith paused for a moment, "I lost."

"Good gods... " Dawn spluttered on the other end.

"Well, kinda anyway," Faith rescued her friend from what sounded like an incipient aneurism. "More of a split decision: she threw me head first into a lamp post, and I kicked her in front of a moving truck. I think I'm ahead on points now."

"Good gods... are you all right?" Dawn's voice was soft.

"Yeah. Recovering anyway... I'm in the hospital as a patent this time," Faith paused. "Be up and around in another day or so."

"Jeeze. I wondered when I kept getting your voice mail. I was hoping you just had your phone turned off because you were working on something." Dawn was quiet for a moment, "Seriously: how bad?"

"Was out for three days. Concussion, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder. Then I was loopy yesterday when I woke up... kept drifting in and out," Faith told her. "Tried to call as soon as I was up to it... "

"Yeah. I had my phone turned off. Sorry."

"No big." Faith stated, "You called back, hey?"

"Yeah, when I remembered to check my messages. Are you sure you're going to be ok?" Dawn's voice was still worried. "And do you need the cavalry?"

"Yeah. I'm going to be ok - the healer you recommended me took care of most of it," Faith told her. "And I have cavalry coming out of my ears: Blade, King, Gunn, Vince... what I need is to get well enough to get out of here and do something with them."

"Sound of nodding on this end," Dawn replied. "Still... only _one_ Slayer. You."

"Yeah, and I only broke even," Faith snickered. "I know. But Blade's more than close enough to even that up. And I have an ace in the hole." _'Two slayers, actually'_, she thought. But she was keeping that card in her sleeve...

"Yeah yeah - and you don't want your elbow joggled. I know. Seriously though, call Vi at least if you need backup, you hear?" Dawn's voice got softer. "Don't want to lose you."

"I know. And I will." Faith assured her.

"So, tell all. I want details, dammit." Dawn laughed, "More than just 'Yo. Fought vamp, got trashed, better now'."

Faith grinned and settled deeper into her pillows to fill Dawn in on the events of the past several days...

"wow." Dawn's voice was small when Faith finally wound down. She was quiet for some time... then, "That fight sounded bad enough, but I can't _imagine_ something like that blood factory you described."

"Imagining it is better than seeing it, Dawn. I hope you never have to walk into something like that." Faith didn't have to add the _'And I'm afraid that you will, sooner or later.'_ She knew that Dawn was capable of filling it in on her own. "You don't need to see those rows of brain dead, film encased bodies every time you close your eyes the way that I have been."

"Yeah... " Dawn's voice was soft. "I'll bet." She paused, "I'm even more inclined now to suggest again that you call in more help."

"No." Faith said, flat. "You're not thinking this through, Dawn."

"How so?" Dawn didn't sound insulted, merely curious.

"This is a war building out here. And it's not a type of war that we're used to fighting. Not something that can be handled by crashing demon bars and vampire haunts. Maybe after this assassin is out of the way, yeah... but for now, it calls for a different approach than we're used to," Faith said. "And if going up against the First should have taught everyone something, it's that trying to learn and adapt on the fly when you're not sure what you're doing is a fast way to get people dead."

"Not an attack, just a question, right? Are you sure that that's not just you wanting to avoid having to deal with arguments over how to handle it?"

"Huh. Let me run that through my head a bit and think it through," Faith replied. Dawn was quiet while she did just that, checking it against her inner awareness. Finally... "No. Well... a bit: I really don't want to have to deal with Giles or someone second guessing me on what's best. But there's more to it than that. Not just ego."

"Like?" The other girl was curious, not challenging.

"This is something different, like I said. Not a matter of wanting to be in charge: if it turns out he has better ideas, I'll be happy to let Blade run the show. He's a professional and more experienced with this kind of organized vampire activity," Faith's voice was thoughtful. "You know as well as I do that if we get several teams of slayers down here as well, that won't happen: we'll spend as much time arguing over why all these outsiders need to be involved," Faith's voice was an uncanny imitation of sentiments Dawn had heard on occassion from other slayers, "involved, or are making decisions as we will fighting the enemy." Faith paused... "And I don't want to end up standing over the corpses of my Wild Bunch, or Vi's.. or Buffy's body wondering how it all blew up. Did that once. It sucked. Rather have someone who knows this particular score advise me, and if we screw up, we don't get anyone killed except ourselves."

"Rather you didn't get killed at all, Faith," Dawn said.

"Yeah. Not dying is high on my list of priorities," Faith replied. "There's another part of it, too." Dawn made an encouraging sound. "I don't want to draw the focus to the IWC when I'm the target. And I also don't want to call for help every time I hit a problem, not if I am quits and an independent. If I can't deal with things like this on my own with the resources I have, or can find, outside of the IWC... then we need to find out now. And I may as well drag back with my tail between my legs, hey?"

"Yeah... dammit." Dawn sighed. "All good reasoning. Would rather you had major flaws in your thinking I could poke holes in. Just don't want you to get killed demonstrating how indy you are. That kind of spoils the lesson, right?"

"Right," Faith laughed. "Do my best. But if I _do_ get killed, I'll make sure my last words are 'Showed you, huh?'" Dawn snickered.


	16. Chapter 16: Mister Smarmy Weasel to you

**Chapter 16: **_**"That's Mister Smarmy Weasel to you..."**_

(Day 10; _Sunday, December 14, 2003_)

"I'm getting a bit tired of this," Faith remarked.

Two of the three doctors gave her bland looks. The third merely raised an eyebrow and looked bemused - something that did not help Faith's mood. Larry, Moe, and Curly, considering that one of them - the bemused older one - was almost bald except for a small fringe of hair around his scalp. Faith was damned if she was going to bother trying to remember their names at this point.

"Now, Miss Lehane," Moe began, "You can certainly understand that, while we're pleased that you're making such a quick recovery, your recovery is unusual to say the least. We need to run a number of tests to make certain that your recovery is actual... "

Faith nodded enthusiastically, "Understand perfectly."

"So you'll cooperate with our testing?" Larry looked surprised and pleased.

Faith nodded again, "No."

"But you just said... "

"I said 'I understand perfectly'," Faith's eyes narrowed. "I din't say 'And I volunteer to be a guinea pig for your next medical paper'."

"Now look here, young lady," Curly began...

"No. You look here," Faith shook her head. "As I recall from that nifty 'Patients Rights' pamphlet I read the other day, among other things, the patient - that would be me - has the right to be informed of any and all treatments so as to be able to give an informed consent or reject any treatments yata yata yata." She snorted, "I'm not consenting. Deal with it."

"Now wait just a minute.. " Moe began in an angry tone.

Faith gave him a malevolent glare. It wasn't the glare that caused him to actually step back several feet until he bumped into one of the other doctors, it was that he could have sworn her eyes flashed _golden_ for a moment. "Been waiting. I just stopped." It was a good thing she'd had the presence of mind to drag her bag over beside the bed onto one of the chairs and stash the big Keith single action in it, or she'd have been tempted to make a loud noise to get her point across. She settled instead for taking a short, deep breath and reaching over and pulling the IV needle out of her forearm. There was a sharp sound from the doctors. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood easily, if a bit unsteadily.

"Miss, you really can't be... "

"Just did," Faith observed. She stretched easily, and bringing her arms down from it, put her hands on her hips. "Told you the other day when I first woke up that I heal fast."

"You do seem to, yes," Curly said...

"Glad we agree," Faith nodded. "Ok, look. I heal fast, but I do need some recovery time. I need a few more days, real food, and exercise to make sure I'm completely healed up and shit. I'm ha- err, willing to spend those few days here so that you can observe and examine me and we can be sure I'm not going to keel over all of a sudden, yeah?" She fixed all three of them with a glare, "But I'm not going to be a lab rat for you. I can walk out of here right now and spend the next few days recovering somewhere else."

"Miss, I understand your feelings, however you yourself admit that you still need recovery time," Larry replied, sure that he had a potential concession. He was wrong. "You can surely see the value of tests to make certain that... "

"If the tests are so valuable, then you don't have a problem with explaining them to me, right?" Faith cut him off. "In detail." She watched him carefully, then snorted again. "Right." She picked up her cellphone and read Gunn's number off of her contact list as she continued cutting across objections, "Look. You want tests? Then you're going to have to explain them to me in detail - using layman's terms, not medicalese - and explain to me exactly how they're going to help me to recover. You get a signed consent form from me for each and every test I agree to, and one for each and every treatment I consent to. Not one single test or treatment that isn't agreed to in advance with a signed consent."

"That's highly irregular, Miss... "

"Wicked. So'm I. It suits." Faith picked up the room phone and dialed out, another glare and a finger across her lips silencing the doctors for the moment. "Hey? Gunn? Cool - glad I caught you in." pause "Uh huh." pause "Yeah... what I called you for: can you talk to my doctors an explain to them that they're going to need a signed consent for each test and treatment they give me, or else?" pause, snicker "Yeah, I'm having some patients rights issues, and my patients are wearin' thin." pause "Coolness, hang on... Oh - 'splain to 'em about a patient's right to privacy again. Seems they don't read their own literature."

"It's for you," Faith handed Doctor Larry the receiver. "My lawyer wants to talk wit' you." Moe and Curly glared at her. She winked and blew them a kiss. "Any problems you have with my requests, you can take up with Wolfram and Hart."

Faith reached behind herself and snapped the ties holding the gown on, and pulled it off. She snagged a bottle of shampoo and conditioner from her bag, and headed towards the room's other door. "Meanwhile, I'm going to take a shower. Then I'm going to come back out and get dressed, and go see what you guys have by way of a gym... "

**...**

Lieutenant Hogan gave the one way glass, and the man sitting behind it, a look that suggested he'd just bitten a rotten lemon. He shook his head and turned the sour expression on O'Brien. "Did you get anything from him?"

snort "He wants his lawyer."

"I can't imagine why," Hogan remarked in a dry tone. O'Brien snickered. Both of them watched Frank launching into yet another round of Q and not-A with the ersatz FBI agent in the interrogation room.

"Failing getting a lawyer, he wants a representative from the Bureau. Failing that, he seems perfectly content to sit there and smirk at us without saying anything."

"What do we have on him, again?" Hogan inquired, the sour expression deepening.

"Entering a hotel room that wasn't his - LeHane's. Technically a B&E, except the room was empty and untenanted, even if he didn't know that. Claims it was part of an 'ongoing investigation'. Not at liberty to discuss yata yata." O'Brien shook his head, "That's about it right now."

"Elaine wouldn't even bother bringing a case on that," Hogan mused.

"Yup. Minute he gets either counsel or an Bureau rep, we'll be forced to cut him loose less than twenty minutes later." O'Brien gave him a mirthless grin, "And probably have to give him an apology for Colby and Carson 'roughing him up' during his arrest."

"Did Christine get back anything from running that tattoo through the databases?"

"Aside from eyestrain?" O'Brien shook his head. "Nadda. Not surprising if it was an identifying mark such as the perps in the warehouse murders had," the blood factory was being sanitized of the more surreal elements and packaged for public consumption as a horrific mass murder scene, which it was. Lots of good publicity for Major Cases in shutting it down, along with two "dirty" cops. Lots of prime PR for the Mayor's office. "However... it doesn't match any of those, nor any of the similar marks LeHane described for us."

"So." Hogan jerked his head towards the one-way glass. "What do you want to do here?"

"Get Frank to toss him off a roof onto his head?" O'Brien suggested, smiling. Hogan snorted, not without amusement. "Seriously... I'd like to get LeHane to look him over and see if she can pick up on anything. Unfortunately, we can't hold him that long, and I _don't_ want to remove her from the hospital to come down _here_ until she's able to participate fully in not getting dead on us."

"Still think she's a key in getting a handle on all of this, eh?" Hogan gave his friend a sympathetic look.

"After witnessing that fight in that parking lot?" O'Brien raised an eyebrow. "You didn't see it, nor how she handled the scene at that... blood factory, or you wouldn't have to ask, Paul. And I don't have words to describe it to you."

Giambione stalked out of the interrogation room, cursing in Italian, waving his hands, and shaking his head disgustedly. Hogan and O'Brien gave him sympathetic looks. "Son of a bitch." He sent both of them a glare, "Would an accidental firearms discharge in interrogation cause us too many problems to be worth while?"

"That bad, huh?" Hogan asked.

"Naw. I _like_ getting my chain jerked by smarmy weasels with badges," Giambone snarled.

"Now now Frank - there's too many people in this building that resemble that crack," O'Brien said soothingly.

"Yeah, but you're my partner. You're a _good_ smarmy weasel with a badge," Frank snickered. O'Brien smirked back at him.

"That's _Mister_ Smarmy Weasel to you," O'Brien remarked. "Nothing at all, huh?" Giambione rolled his eyes as an answer.

"Cut him loose, Frank," Hogan ordered. He met Giambione's glare an O'Brien's knowing glance with an unperturbed stare. "We don't have anything to stick on him, and we don't need to get into a pissing match with the Bureau right now."

"Can I at least break his legs first?" Frank asked.

"No. But take enough time with processing his release to get Stevie in here to surveil him after he leaves. I want to know where he takes off to and what he does," O'Brien suggested. He considered for a moment, "And ask Christine to get us some prints of the photos of that tattoo along with his booking photos."

"Slave driver," Frank remarked. "Sir, yes sir!" He turned on his heel and headed off.

"What next, Obie?" Hogan sent an amused look after the younger detective. O'Brien stifled a yawn. Far too early in the morning for the night owl squad to be up.

"After Frank finishes the release paperwork, we're going shopping," O'Brien rubbed his eyes and glanced at the coffee maker. "Then up to the hospital."

"Shopping?!" Hogan gave him a suspicious look.

"Shopping," O'Brien nodded.

**...**

Just after lunch, Faith was scrolling through CD files on her laptop, and muttering curses under her breath about impenetrable British twats when the knock came. Bad enough that the 12th century Watchers had written their journals in Middle (or occasionally even Old) English, they also seemed to be determined to do so in academic Middle English to boot. She'd had to resort to finding an online archaic English dictionary and pause every few minutes to look something up while reading.

She looked up at the door, glad for the distraction, whatever it was. Maybe it was a bad guy she could kill... "Yes?"

"O'Brien."

"It's open," Faith called, smiling. Not extending invitations was too deeply ingrained in her to offer a 'Come in' to anyone, even in broad daylight.

_'Huh. Well, what's all this?'_ she wondered, raising an eyebrow as O'Brien, his partner, Gunn, and both Winchester brothers came in - Dean walking this time and pushing Sam in a wheelchair with an IV stand attached. "Surprise," Sam called out, grinning.

"It lives," Faith shot him a return grin. "Did they make you hold a cross just to check after you woke up?" Sam snickered. She noticed that Dean was carefully not meeting her eyes, and ignored him in favor of registering her pleasure at seeing Sam up and conscious.

"Had to gargle with holy water, twice," he shot back. "_Stale_ holy water."

"Don't bitch - I'd have given you the stake test," Faith laughed. She raised the other eyebrow. Giambione was carrying what looked suspiciously like a bakery box and grinning as well. "So.. what's this? An intervention? I swear - I didn't mean it when I glared at those docs like I wanted to introduce them to the Five Major Torture Groups, honest."

Gunn laughed, and Frank shook his head. He set down the box and opened it to remove and reveal... a chocolate cake? He set the cake down on her bedside tray with a flourish. "Happy birthday." O'Brien set a card down next to it, with a nod to her.

Faith gaped at him. She closed the laptop slowly and set it aside, and raised herself up to look at the cake better. Plain German chocolate, no candles... looking like your basic gorcery store bakery cake. With 'Happy Birthday Faith' written on it in white icing with one of those cake decorators. Gunn took a small candle out of his suit pocket and stuck it in the center, and then lit it with a small gold lighter, while O'Brien took out a small stack of paper plates and plastic knives and forks and set them down next to the cake, along with an inexpensive cake cutter.

Faith looked at the card, looked at the cake again, and then gaped at the five grinning idiots in the room with her. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and shut it. Took a deep breath. Finally, "Birthday? How... but... it's not... "

O'Brien raised his eyebrows. "We looked at your license and passport at the hospital the first time, remember? And looked up your records?" He glanced at his watch. "December the 14th. Birthday."

"But... " Faith shook her head, then gave him a wide eyed look. "You're not going to sing, are you?"

Giambione snickered. "Trust me: you do _not_ want to hear Obie sing." O'Brien shot him a look.

"Not me. I've been to Caritas, remember?" Gunn shook his head firmly. "Cured me for life."

Faith picked up the card and opened it for something to hide her confusion. Jeeze... they'd gotten all of them to sign it, even Dean. Ok... she shook her head, exasperated and her stomach churning. Birthday? So what the fuck do you do with birthdays, anyway? Faith leaned forward and gave the cake an narrow eyed look, and blew at the candle experimentally. It flickered, but didn't go out. She took a deep breath and blew harder, putting the candle out and sending it flying off the cake into Sam's lap. He laughed and there was a round of applause.

"Makes it official, I guess. Happy birthday," Gunn picked up the cake and set it in her lap on top of the covers. He handed her the cutter and set the stack of plates next to her. "Birthday girl gets to cut the cake," he added with a grin. She stared at him.

"How'd you know whether or not I liked chocolate?" Faith stared at O'Brien and Giambione.

"All girls like chocolate," O'Brien said in a decisive tone. "It's in the Manual - I think it's genetic."

"There's a manual?" Faith shook her head again. _'Ok, Faith. You can do this,'_ she looked down at the cake, wondering why her vision was suddenly blurry. _'It's just a cheap grocery deli cake, no big, right? Stupid Hallmark card. All you have to do is cut it and start handing out slabs off of the thing... '_ She picked up the cake cutter and touched it to the top of the cake, looking at the blurry 'Happy Birthday Faith' upside down. _'Normal people do birthday cakes all the time.'_

She took another deep breath, and then set the cake cutter down on the bedside tray, and very carefully picked up the cake and set it on the tray next to it. She heard "Excuse me," come out distantly in a very small voice like someone else had said it, and glared up at O'Brien.

Then she burst into tears, swung her feet off the side of the bed and, brushing past Dean and almost knocking him over, fled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it.

O'Brien and Frank looked at each other, then at Gunn. The Winchester brothers gave each other startled looks.

"What the fuck, over?" Gunn said, eyes wide...

O'Brien shook his head and bent over to pick the card and the plates up from off of the floor where they had fallen when Faith hurled the covers aside. "Dunno, but in my experience when women do that, it means you've either screwed up real bad, or they're deliriously happy."

"And she didn't look deliriously happy," Frank observed, his expression glum. The looks the rest of them exchanged echoed his conclusion.


	17. Chapter 17: Don't noise it around

**Chapter 17: **_**"Don't noise it around..."**_

O'Brien was leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest when she came back out finally, staring morosely at the birthday cake. By himself this time - she'd heard him chase the rest of them out when she return after a short time.

"I don't think it's going to attack you. Seems to be just me it doesn't like," she leaned against the wall near the bathroom door with her hands behind her. She gave him a wan smile, "But I'll leave the path to the bathroom open just in case."

"Guess the Manual was wrong, huh?"

Faith gave him a startled look, then shook her head. "No... I like chocolate," she shrugged, then trailed off, looking at the floor. "Guess I screwed that up, huh?"

"My fault, I think." The corner of Faith's mouth curled up slightly and she shook her head again, still looking at the floor. "Easy to see you as some sort of superhero after that parking lot. Makes it hard to remember there's a girl in there somewhere," O'Brien said.

"Hey - need someone to beat the crap out of a vampire? I'm your gal," Faith laughed, harshly. "Need a birthday cake wrestled into submission? Try down the road and six blocks over."

"Want to talk about it?" She looked up, found nothing except curious sympathy in his gaze.

"No. Yeah. Dunno," Faith wandered over and sat on the bed again, and started picking idly at the covers. She looked out the window to see that it had started snowing again at some point while she was locked in the john. She gave her head a small shake and looked sidelong at O'Brien. "Thanks. It was nice... the cake I mean."

O'Brien nodded, studying her quietly. Not pressing... something she was grateful for.

"You don't look like a cop when you do that," she said, quietly. Faith studied him back. He gave her an inquiring look."You look like I picture a parent looks. Got many kids?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Not of my own." O'Brien looked out the window and was quiet for a time. Then, "Nikki, my ex... lady friend, has a son. Used to spend a lot of time with him while we were together."

"Ah," she nodded and went back to watching the snow. "What happened?"

"She decided that she couldn't handle being involved with a cop," O'Brien's voice was soft. "Not knowing whether I was going to come home at night, or if she'd get a late night phone call and a car from the precinct with someone in a dress uniform out to offer condolences the next morning."

"Yeah. Makes it rough." Faith was quiet for a time, watching the snowfall. "I never knew my dad. My mom said she couldn't remember his name."

_'Ouch,'_ O'Brien thought to himself, shaking his head.

"You still see her?" Faith's soft voice jerked him back from wherever his head had gone thinking about her last statement.

"Yeah, all the time. She owns Rimbault's Bar where Major Cases hangs out after shifts," he said, voice equally soft. "We're still pretty good friends. Just... not dating or living together."

Faith nodded slowly and took a deep breath. She turned around to kneel up on the bed and picked up the cake cutter. Biting her lower lip she carefully cut a thick slice of cake and placed it on one of the paper plates and handed it to him, not looking up. Then she cut one for herself and sat back down, picking at it with a fork after a bit.

O'Brien poured her a cup of coffee from a carafe that she hadn't noticed anyone bringing in. She wasn't surprised - Giambione and his box, and Sam had absorbed most of her attention at the time. She accepted it and took a sip. Still hot, mostly. He poured himself a cup.

"Good cake," she said after a few minutes, sounding surprised. She took another bite and glanced up at him, "Sorry. I guess I don't do 'normal' real well."

"I should have figured that out, if I had thought about it for a bit," O'Brien sounded apologetic.

"No reason you should have," Faith shook her head. "All sorts of people do birthdays ok, right?"

"Usually." O'Brien said with a careful nod. "Not all of them, though," he added.

"I ran away from home when my mom's boyfriends started thinking that maybe the kid was more interesting than she was," Faith said in a flat tone, looking out the window again. "Ran the streets until I got caught and put into foster care. Kept running away when I found out foster 'dads' had a lot of the same ideas that mom's loser boyfriends had."

"Christ," O'Brien muttered under his breath. He forgot how sharp LeHane's ears were. She flashed him a quick grin.

"Not exactly the words I've used... " Faith shook her head, then gave him a more sober look. "Did she?"

"Beg pardon?" O'Brien blinked at the sudden switch in topics.

"Ever get any late night calls? I mean... obviously she didn't get a honor guard visit saying you were dead." She gave him a suspicious look. Unless you're a real well disguised vampire."

He gave a sharp startled bark of laughter in spite of himself, and looked out the window. "Yeah. Three times."

Faith nodded, and took another bite of her cake. She stared into her coffee for a bit. "Missed my last two birthdays. Spent them in prison. Angel didn't even come to visit... " She shook her head. "Before that... I don't think I ever told anyone what day it was when I got to Sunnydale. And it all started falling apart, then... " There was a long silence, filled with both of them watching the snow. "Spent the next birthday in a coma. Don't remember the last time that someone gave me a birthday thing. Diana - my first Watcher after I was called... was nice, but I don't think she ever thought about it."

O'Brien nodded carefully and made an encouraging sound. LeHane shot him another quick flash of grin.

"You're a good interrogator, Five-oh. You get all sympathetic looking and make appropriate noises and listen carefully," she snickered at his expression. She became quiet again for a time... "Diana may have done something if she'd lived long enough. She was killed before too long... by a vampire. After he killed and turned my last foster-mom and former boyfriend and sent them after me so that I had to stake them." The flat, matter of fact tone made chills run down O'Brien's spine. "Running... I don't think I slowed down much after that... " She gave him a long look, "You guys kind of caught me by surprise here."

"I kind of figured," he said in a dry voice.

That quick grin flashed again. "Showed, huh?"

"Could say that," he replied neutrally.

"Ha. Tough girl, that Faith LeHane. Nothing gets to her. Murderer, torturer... She hunts monsters for a living." She shook her head, hit the covers lightly with her fist, "And I broke apart over a stupid card and a store bought cake." She gave him a dark look, "I could hate you for that."

"I hope you don't," O'Brien replied.

"Naw. Better things to hate you for," she stated. "Damn you," the look Faith gave him had wet eyes and she was blinking furiously. "O'Brien... where the hell were you and people like your partner for the first fifteen years of my life? Where the hell were you when Diana was killed and I had to run to Sunnyhell? Instead of Southie cops who used to beat up and take out favors from street girls when they caught them like their damned badges entitled them to it?"

"In Philly, most likely," his voice was flat. "Faith... you shouldn't have had to go through that. No one should. And I wish I could say that we don't have street cops like that here in Philly, but we do." He paused, thinking back. "Don't give me too much credit. I've killed people myself and it wasn't always what society or IAD would consider righteous, even if I haven't sunk as low as some of the badge wearing scum we have around." O'Brien handed her his napkin and looked away while she took care of the runny eye problem. He gave her a long look, "Besides... would you have given anyone a chance, really, when you were fifteen? Or fourteen? Before you'd gone through the last four or five years, self-destructed, and then rebuilt yourself?"

"No... probably not," she looked away, and he nodded. "I didn't give anyone much of a chance until I fell apart on Angel. Only one in Sunnydale who tried, I almost strangled."

"Right," O'Brien shrugged. "We're where we're at, now, with what it took to get here. It leaves scars that take a long time to get past."

"Right," Faith looked out the window again. "Angel says that you don't ever get past it, that we don't ever really make up for all the bad we did. I've always figured that Angel is an idiot in a lot of ways. Good man, one of the best considering, but an idiot." She was quiet for a time, "I think that there _has_ to be a point where you're no longer defined by what you once did, and what once happened to you, where you've done enough and the _new_ things you do start to define you instead." Faith cut him a sidelong glance, "Is there? Or am I talking out my ass on that."

O'Brien was quiet for a long time himself, considering. He poured both of them some more coffee, and said finally, "You're asking the wrong person. I've done so much, been so many things in the last thirty years, good and bad, that I don't know any longer what defines me." He gave her a considering look, "I know that I'm not the same man I was at twenty, or at thirty. I don't do the same things I did then, regret the same things. Don't believe in the same things I did then." He sipped his coffee and made a face, "Don't know if that helps."

"Maybe," she replied after a long time. "If I live to see thirty - which is kind of long odds for a Slayer, maybe I'll look back and find I've become something else along the way."

"I don't have a referent for the monster hunting and the horrors you've seen there and what its done to you," he stated. "But on the rest... you may not have paid what a _lot_ of cops would consider your dues for those things, but according to everyone I've spoken with, you worked real hard at becoming something other than that fifteen year old borderline psychotic you were when you hit Sunnydale. You don't seem to have gone back to it after getting your convictions reversed. That earns you at least a benefit of the doubt with me."

"Thanks... "

O'Brien nodded. A thought occurred to him and he asked, "Your last name?"

She gave him a blank look, then nodded and flashed that half-grin again. "Don't know where my mom got that from. On my birth certificate it says 'Unknown' in the daddy space." She paused, added, "I went by 'Faith Wilkins' for awhile, after the Mayor of Sunnyhell adopted me." She was quiet for a bit. "Went back to LeHane officially later - it didn't seem right to stay with Wilkins after I started trying to become something different. Changed the way it was written to distance myself a bit from my mom and whoever she got it from... but it's mine and I wanted to keep it."

O'Brien smiled slightly, nodding. "A link to where you came from?"

"Heh. Yah, kind of." Faith considered. "And more than a bit of 'whuts mine is mine' there I think." She put her empty plate on the bedside tray, surprised that she'd finished the cake at some point and hadn't realized it. Faith looked at the card and cake and shot him an impish look, "You auditioning, Five-oh?"

O'Brien laughed out loud at that and gave her a look back. "Want me to? Have to warn you: I'm too old to set a second job in order to feed you in the amounts to which you've become accustomed."

"You forget: I have that independently wealthy thing going. I can feed myself," the corner of Faith's mouth quirked up lazily. "You may have to resort to canned catfood in your dotage though. I'm not real nurturing."

"I think my retirement pension will at least buy the gourmet catfood," he observed sourly, and they both laughed.

"Or maybe Frank? I err... kinda assumed that this was your idea?" Faith gestured at the cake and card.

"You assumed right. Mostly mine, although Frank picked out the card." He shook his head, "I didn't expect that it would get the reaction it did."

"Made an impression, huh? No worries," Faith shook her head back at him. "Bound to happen from something. I've been kind of tottery lately since I broke off from the IWC." She gave the window a reflective look, "Probably a good thing it happened here instead of when I was out in mid death-battle..."

"Can't have that," he agreed.

"Nope. Been told in no uncertain terms I'm not allowed to die." Faith nodded, "Have it on good authority that bad things will result." They fell into a more comfortable silence over the rest of the coffee.

After awhile, O'Brien gave a start and slapped at his jacket pocket. Faith gave him a curious look.

"Something bite you?"

"No. Almost forgot in all the leakage," he grinned. "Colby, Carson, and Stevie caught someone breaking into your former hotel room to sneak a look around. They had this on them," he pulled out a photo of the tattoo and handed it to her along with copies of the face/profile mugshots.

"Wicked. Professional diversion," Faith grinned and shot him a wink. "Not that I mind and all, but I think we've had enough of the sharing of the feelings type stuff." She gave him a dark look, "That always leads to hugging and neither of us are ready for that."

O'Brien laughed, "No, guess not. I'd get uncomfortable, at least." Faith nodded furiously. "So," he said, "Recognize it? Or him?"

"No... " Faith bit her lip, studying the photos. "Almost but not quite familiar... like I've seen something similar or read about it somewhere, but I can't place it." She frowned, "Not a Familiar tattoo. Too large, and too prominent, from what... a friend's described to me. Who is he?"

"Claims to be an FBI agent. Same guy that you pointed out to Colby at the ER who was asking about the Winchesters."

"Hrmmm... "

"Hrrrm?" O'Brien gave her an inquiring look. Faith shook her head.

"It's the sound of rusty gears in my head trying to turn after some idiot cop with a birthday cake derailed them," Faith said, tapping a fingernail on the photos. "That doesn't look like a Familiar tat I don't think, but it does look mystical in a way. FBI agent?"

"So he says," O'Brien nodded. "Quantico records confirm that he went through the academy there and works for the bureau."

"But you're not satisfied," Faith remarked. O'Brien raised his eyebrows. "You had your 'cop face' on saying that. Practically screams 'And I have Arizona beachfront for sale if you buy that one'," she grinned. O'Brien snorted, but didn't disagree with her.

"No. There's something hinky about him, and about his records," he shook his head. "Not sure what, but it's setting off my instincts in a big way."

Faith nodded. "Can I have a copy of these?" She looked up at him.

"Sure. Keep those: I had Christine print off spares," O'Brien said.

"Cool," Faith said, looking pensive. She really needed to figure out a way to get the blonde detective off to one side for a talk. She was also getting increasingly uncomfortable with keeping something like that from O'Brien - for one thing, he was too sharp to not notice or have suspicions, and for two, he really deserved to know that someone in his squad was likely to become a vampire and demon magnet, assuming she hadn't already. But it wasn't Faith's secret to tell... She shook her head: deal with one thing at a time, LeHane. "Copy on disk? I know someone to ask, but it'd be faster to send him a copy via computer than to have someone courier it over." She looked up at him.

"Hrrm." O'Brien shot her a look, "Now you have me doing that, dammit." Faith laughed. He thought for a moment and said, "Computer age. I'm sure there's a scanner somewhere in this hospital we can use."

"Good point," Faith slid out of bed and grabbed her laptop case off the floor by one of the chairs. She removed a small USB drive from a pocket and said, "I'll go with - make sure you remember to erase the scan from their system after we grab it." She shot him a grin, "I know how you dinosaurs are about modern technology." O'Brien snickered and shook his head.

"I noticed they unplugged you and let you up," he remarked.

"They didn't _let_ me anything," she said. "I unplugged me and said I was getting showered and dressed. And sicked Gunn on them when they wanted more tests." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she worked her shoulder easily. "I need a couple more days, but it's a couple more days I really need to spend in the hospital gym making sure my arm and back are healing in good shape. Not hooked up to an IV getting prodded."

O'Brien raised an eyebrow, but merely nodded and turned to the door.

Faith's eyes fell on the cake again as she was coming around the bed and she frowned. "Hey - O'Brien." He paused and gave her an inquiring look. "Thanks for the cake and all. It was... nice." She flashed him a grin, "I'm kinda sorry I wrecked the party. I'm really not usually a 'burst into tears and flee' kinda girl." That last came out in a bit of a rush in spite of the grin...

"Don't worry about it." He saw the bleak look behind the grin and added, "Look. Given the lives we lead, it's to be expected that after awhile we take the horrors in stride and deal with them. They're 'normal' for us." He gave her a sober look, "It's the things that other people take for granted as 'normal' that we have a hard time with. It hits us outside of our experience where we don't have any road maps." He watched her absorb that and think about it for a minute, then she nodded.

"Yeah. _Way_ outside, sometimes. Thanks."

**...**

Some time later Faith and O'Brien were back in her room joking comfortably and working their way through a bag of cheeseburgers that O'Brien had sent one of his plainclothesmen out to get. In between trading wisecracks, Faith was sorting out the information she'd gleaned so far from Wes' CD by laying it out along with her conjectures for O'Brien - she was finding that bouncing it off of him and answering his questions helped to clarify things in her own mind. That, and killing time waiting for Wesley to return the call she'd made to him after they'd found a scanner for the photos.

A short knock at the door made both of them look up, O'Brien's hand going to the submachine gun next to him, Faith's going under the covers to the big Keith revolver. Catching each others instinctive movement, they exchanged rueful looks and grinned at each other.

"Yeah?" Faith called out, half expecting Dean or O'Brien's partner to answer. No - Giambione would have just rapped, said 'It's me' and walked in...

"You left a message for me to get in contact ASAP," came a familiar voice back, and Faith's eyebrows lifted. O'Brien paused on his way to the door and looked back at her inquiringly.

"Vince?" She nodded to O'Brien and he moved to one side to pull the door open.

"The one and only." Faith didn't recognize the figure standing in the opened doorway, but that didn't matter - her slayer senses did, picking up on the demon essence despite the human looking form. Vince shot her a grin with too many teeth in it for a real normal human, and gave a short nod to the tall detective, glancing approvingly at the firearm and O'Brien's caution.

"Come on in," Faith said to ease him past the wards, grinning. Vince shrugged and wandered over to the bedside, hands in his pockets, looking her over. She looked at O'Brien, "Can we finish this later? Need to talk to the man here."

"Sure. I need to head back up to the precinct for awhile anyway," O'Brien gave her a look that communicated 'Are you sure?' as certainly as if he'd spelled it out and she nodded. He inclined his head back and pulled the door shut behind him as he left.

"Slayer," Vince glanced at the cop as the door closed on him and shook his head in mock disapproval.

"Hey Thug," Faith grinned. "You looked a lot scalier the last time I saw you."

Vince dropped his human appearance for a moment, chuckling. "Makes it easier to not freak out the mundanes, kiddo." He shook his head with a sad expression, "Cops? You keep hanging out with lowlifes and I'll have to rethink our relationship. I have standards, you know."

snicker "Yeah yeah. Says the demon who hangs out with slayers and the Daywalker."

"Ok, I didn't say they were _high_ standards," he grinned. "You look pretty good for someone who supposedly came in through ER unconscious."

"Should of seen me a few days ago, Thug." Faith gave him a considering look, "Not that I'm not glad an' all, so don't take this the wrong way, but.. what the fuck are you _doing_ here, Thug?"

"Visiting someone in the hospital," Vince grinned, ignoring the implicit 'smart ass' in the look he got back. "You stopped answering your phone. Trailed along behind the Daywalker to see what was up."

"Thought you warned me off of bringing my playmate down on you?" Faith raised an eyebrow.

"Said I didn't want my _bar_ trashed, Slayer. Never said I was going to let you face a Death Dealer all on your lonesome," Vince gave her a hard look. "Can't let people put out contracts on your friends. It's bad for business."

"Friends, huh?" Faith lifted an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile.

"Don't noise it around. Gots an image to maintain," Vince winked. "Besides, it gives me a chance to catch up on some business opportunities down here." He met her eyes evenly, "Lay out the situation for me, Slayer."

"Kay-oh," Faith nodded. "First though, what about things back in Jersey?"

"No worries. My second and B'yarj know the score and what to do. They'll cover what we discussed."

"All right." Faith nodded and then began to lay out what she had along with events leading up to this point...

**...**

O'Brien headed the unmarked Crown Victoria to the bar where he was Giambione, thinking hard. After they'd hunted up a scanner and made their copies, Faith had given him a long, thorough look, then quirked that insouciant half grin and suggested he come with her for a few minutes. It raised his curiosity enough that he'd made an 'after you' gesture and trailed along after her...

_They'd ended up down in the weight room of the hospital's Physical Therapy wing. Faith had given him another long look, shrugged almost to herself, and then walked over to one of the weight machines and made a few adjustments to it. After which she'd turned back to him, placed one hand on the lifting bar - her uninjured side, he'd noticed - and without taking so much as a deep breath raised her arm easily and lifted the entire stack of weights to the machine's fullest extent. Then held them there for a long five minutes without strain, and just as easily lowered them._

She'd gestured for him to take a look at it afterwards. O'Brien wasn't able to budge the stack with both hands and his full weight. He'd taken a look at the settings: it was set for the full 650 pounds. With one hand.

Then she'd flipped him her lighter and asked him to balance it upright on his palm and watch it. When he had, without looking away from his eyes, her hand flickered almost invisibly and then she was stepping back casually tossing the lighter in the air and grinning.

She took a casual seat on the weight machine's bench, one foot propped up on it and her hands clasped loosely around her knee looking at him with her head cocked and her eyes serious. "Now you know," she said.  
_  
O'Brien nodded, "I knew part of it from what you'd told me earlier. And from the fight at the parking lot."_

"Yeah. You saw the dent that blonde made hitting the side of that SUV," Faith nodded. "And that light pole after she threw me into it." The dark eyes went distant for a moment until she shook it away and smiled, "I wasn't sure that you'd put all the bits and pieces together."

"I wasn't completely certain I'd put them together properly," he said. "Why are you showing off to me?"

She cocked her head again and grinned. "Not 'showing off', _showing__." O'Brien nodded with a wry twist of the lips, acknowledging the distinction. "Seem to recall telling you at the restaurant that there's things your badge doesn't entitle you to, because there's things that aren't my secrets?"_

"Ah." He nodded again, "Things that can hurt other people for no good reason."

"Right." She looked way, then back to him. "Taking a big leap here, Five-oh. I no longer think that you're the type to use something like this to do harm, unless there's good cause, right?"

"Depends," he met that dark gaze evenly. "If it's a danger to other people? Yeah. In a heartbeat. Just to close a case or score a promotion or brownie points?" O'Brien snorted. "No."

"Right. Good cause, not frivolous ones." Faith nodded, "I'm a Slayer. One of two, where for longer than recorded history there was one at a time." She paused, looking away. "Then awhile back, Sunnydale California fell into a hole in the ground and because of something that a bunch of scared to death twenty year olds did to save our asses from something we were afraid couldn't be stopped... there's hundreds. Maybe thousands - I don't keep track."

"Who does?" He asked.

"You haven't paid to see those cards yet, O'Brien," the voice was soft, and there wasn't any sting in the words or the dark eyes. "The thing is, you're a sharp man, and a pretty good detective. Your people are sharp, and they're motivated. Vampires, slayers, demons... my abilities, my history and files... you have enough information to add two plus two and come up with a lot of things. If you put it together wrong, and do the wrong thing with it - people get hurt." She quirked that half grin, "Maybe even you, and I don't want to see that happen. Kinda gotten used to you."

"Heh." He snorted, "Thanks. I've kind of gotten used to me too." She acknowledged that with a flash of the dark eyes.

"Hundreds of young women, maybe more. Fourteen, twenty, seventeen, sixteen... some older, a few younger. Girls that can bench press the front end of a pickup truck, and move almost faster than your eye can see. Not superheroes. Heroes in some cases... or villains. I was once. Been both. Girls, or in some cases, women." She paused and said, "Think it through," and then waited while he did so. He nodded.

"Care to lay out for me what all it entails?" O'Brien made a gesture at the weight machine, "Other than strength and speed?"

_"Short version? The long one takes awhile," Faith said. O'Brien nodded, and she gave him the brief version of slayer abilities and how it worked, as well as an explanation of some of the costs..._

She watched him work it through, considering it, and saw when the various implications clicked behind his eyes.

"Yeah. Like I said, sharp man," that quick grin flashed again. "Strong and fast, but you've already seen that I'm not invulnerable. A high powered rifle with a scope can take me out. Or a 12ga from a car window... I know you've seen a lot of the worst that people will do to each other for a little bit of money, or a little bit of power. Girls have families. Think about what kinds of leverage a criminal, or some politician could use to get themselves a super powered assassin. Or what kind of psychological crap could be used to take a 12 to 16 year old street kid or orphan and bend her around, no matter how strong or fast she was."

He did, and shivered a bit thinking about it. He met her eyes again, "Like the mayor of Sunnydale did with you?" He didn't like the dark, pain filled flash that went through her eyes.

"Yeah, like that," her voice went soft. "Sad thing is, he really did care: you could see it in all the little things. That's what made it work so damned well."

O'Brien nodded, his eyes distant. "It always is. Those types are the worst kind." He met her eyes again, "Again, why?"

She cocked her head again, eyes bright. "Because if you really want to get a handle on this thing, and keep it when I leave, I'm going to have to put you in touch with some people. You need to know what you're dealing with." Faith smiled slightly, "And you need to think through what you can and can't do."

O'Brien nodded, quiet for several minutes. "Yeah. It's going to take some thinking through."

"Yeah. But you're a sharp man." Faith studied him carefully, "You'll come to the right conclusions, hey?" She paused and her eyes went distant again, "Little girls and women. You deal with the garbage that humans do to each other. They go out into the night and fight monsters, and die, so regular people don't have to. Not that much different."

She uncoiled off the bench and stood easily. "Ready to head back up so I can start putting things together before I get out of here? Lotta work to do so we're ready to flush blondie out and put paid to the bitch."

"Sure," he said. Faith nodded and ambled off for the doorway.

"I like you, O'Brien. But there's something you need to remember," she paused and turned slightly, looking up at him under a dark wing of hair. "If I'm wrong and you're playing me... if I ever find out that this little demo led to girls getting used or killed, slayer type girls... " She paused a second, "Then I'll come back here with friends to help me hide the bodies, y'hear?"

A lot to think about. And _not_ the implicit threat in the final words - that was something he'd have said, and _meant_, in the same position. He didn't take it lightly, but it didn't concern him very much, either. He also wasn't concerned that the little demo had been Faith's way of reasserting her toughness to him. O'Brien had been a pretty damned good student of body language and of reading people for most of his life, and a cop for over thirty years. He just wasn't reading that off of the girl.

It had bothered her that she'd had what she would consider a moment of weakness and broken down, and that other people had seen it... but she was also sharp enough to know that he'd seen the other side of her, the killer side and the cold professional, and proud enough to not need to show off to make herself bigger again. He figured she'd deal with what she'd consider her momentary lapse in private, and alone. Or she'd hide it behind sarcasm or self deprecating humor, or both.

What did concern him were the various pieces clicking together in his head as he added up things he'd observed over several months. A blonde detective of his who'd suddenly gotten much better at martial arts, and developed an almost sixth sense for picking up minuscule clues that other, trained detectives missed. One who could pick up flickering images from a video where other eyes saw nothing at all.

Detective Second Class Christine Meadows, thirty two year old newly awakened Slayer, and a member of his squad for the past ten years.

A newly awakened slayer who hadn't told the rest of her squad or her Lieutenant what had happened and what was going on with her. And now O'Brien had to figure out what to do with that, if anything. And whether or not he _wanted_ to do anything at all with it...


	18. Chapter 18: Not nearly as well equipped

**Chapter 18: **_**"Not nearly as well equipped for it..."**_

"Huh." Vince was looking at her after she'd finished with more'n a little of that fey light she'd seen in his eyes after the fight at the Pit. "Don't think I ever heard of anyone who went four rounds with a Death Dealer and walked away. And a turned slayer, to boot." He regarded her thoughtfully, "Think the slayer powers carried over?"

"If not, then near enough as don't count," Faith said, rubbing the back of her head with a rueful expression.

"You sure you're up for another round?"

"Snicker. Almost the same thing Blade asked, Thug." Faith's expression went distant. "No, but it don't matter. Ain't gonna play her game. Gonna kick over the table and play mine."

"I know that look, Slayer," Vince grinned. "Last time we did that thing, we created a new Hellmouth."

"Yeah, but it sure beat the fuck outta the alternative, din't it?" Faith raised an eyebrow, grinning, and they both laughed.

"That it did, that it did." The demonic mobster shook his head, "Not exactly a walk on the 'side of the angels' this time, kiddo, but it'll do." He looked at her, "Where and when?"

"Still working on the 'where' - I have a couple of pieces I need to find first." Faith stretched, "When: couple of days we get started, once I'm back up to 100 or near enough. Then we rattle cages and do to the vampire hangouts here what Abby and I did to the demon underworld in J-City."

"Kill shit and break things, huh? I'm there with that. Never did care for licks."

Faith started to say something in response, but her phone picked that time to go off. She looked at the display and made a face. "Hold that thought - I need to take this one, I guess." She put her finger over her lips in a 'shush' gesture and flipped open the cellphone.

"G. S'me."

"Good afternoon, Faith. I received your message from yesterday."

"Afternoon yerself. Cool - then you know the scoop."

"Yes, I believe so. I was a bit concerned when you dropped out of contact for several days. I gathered, however, that you'd completed your contract. Well done."

"Well... hold the well dones for now, Giles. I still need to give her the Speech and pass along pertinent details an' all." Faith paused, "Dropped off the radar 'cause I've been in the hospital the past several days - had a go 'round with my vampire babe."

"Good lord. Are you... never mind. Silly question," Giles managed to sound both concerned and exasperated at the same time. Cool - maybe some day she could get 'completely discombobulated' out of him. Faith grinned. "You're in the hospital - of course you're not all right. How bad?"

"Easy Giles. Put the glasses down and step back so no one has to get hurt," Faith laughed. "I'll be up and out in a day or so. Coulda been out yesterday, except I wanted to make sure I got back up to full speed somewhere relatively safe."

"Unexpectedly prudent of you, I must say."

"Thanks ever so, G," Faith's voice went dry. "You've been a bad influence on me - I'm gettin' careful in my dotage. And trickier."

"Ha. If it's 'trickier', you've been learning from the wrong aspect of my personality, I fear."

"Naw. I _like_ Ripper." Faith snickered, "He's your better half."

"Hardly," Giles laughed softly. "I gather the encounter is responsible for the delay in making contact with the young lady. Understandable."

"Yeah... partly. I'd be taking this one slow anyway. It's a bit stickier than normal." Faith paused again, "I'll get it done, don't worry."

"Quite. Would you like for me to send someone down to assist? Someone used to dealing with the authorities and credentials."

"Huh. No... best not. I have a bit of a rapport with the locals in question," Faith stated. She bit down _hard_ on the impulse to suggest that she didn't need her hand held and she cleaned up perfectly well for dealing with the 'authorities', thanks. Giles was being a lot less difficult than she'd expected - no need to antagonize him... "Rather not spook them by introducing an unfamiliar element into the mix, y'know? The rapport could go sideways too easy, still."

"Yes. I could see how that could be the case even with the rather... sparse nature of your email report," Giles' voice was dry also, but not bad humoured.

"You mean you'd rather my next one had like, words and shit in it?" Faith snickered. Giles made an exasperated sound, and she added, "If I can pull this off, you'll get a lot more out of it than just a mini-slay. If I can't... you won't need to pay me." She left unspoken the implicit _'Because I won't be around to spend it'_ in that.

"Lets hope it doesn't come to that," Giles stated. "Very well. Considering that you've had a great deal of experience with dealing with first contact encounters, I'll defer to your instincts for now."

"Coolness." Faith raised an eyebrow. "Let me call you back when I have things settled - I'm in the middle of something right now."

"Very well. Carry on, Faith." Giles clicked off from his end.

"Huh," Faith remarked, eyes distant. That went better than she expected. Either a trap, or a sign that the Fates were about to drop a hammer on her...

"Giles?" Vince remarked, bring her back. "Thought you quit the IWC, Slayer?"

Faith quirked the half grin at him. "Contract work. Freelancer now - I'm juggling a lot of balls these days. Icing licks don't pay for hotel rooms."

Vince nodded. "Back to non-paying business," he grinned. "You sure about these cop friends of yours?"

"Sure? What's 'sure' in this business, Vince?" Faith gave him a dark look. "I think O'Brien's level, for what it's worth. And I trusted you on a lot less, with a lot more... " She shrugged. "I'll know for as sure as I _can_ get pretty soon, I think."

"Take your word for it. You I trust." Vince grinned, dismissing the matter. "Ok... gots nothing on who had the contract out yet. Best I can do is who hasn't: none of the J-City powers who's cages you rattled - although a lot of them woulda liked to - and not the Hellfire Club. It's either something old we're not lookin' at, or you pissed off a player somewhere who's playing it cute and close to the vest." He cocked his head, "Seems to be just you, though. No rumors that anyone else in your circle's bein' targeted, for what that's worth."

"You sure about that?" Faith lifted an eyebrow, making her tone light.

"I'd repeat back what you said earlier, but I'm afraid you'd hit me," Vince sniggered and Faith laughed. "Naw. Not sure sure. But it's the way to bet right now. Not everyone's as hard to take out as you are: there'd have been unmistakable indicators, you catch my drift."

"Right. Good... " Faith nodded, looking thoughtful. She could come up with one possible, but there wasn't any way she could crunch it that made it add up. Have to keep it in the back of the mind for now...

"Right. I'm going to mosey. Have business to do and a few friends to kill." Vince looked her over critically. "You're warded you say, and I have guys watching the entrances and exits. You should be ok here until you move out. But be wary."

"Always, Thug. And... thanks, hey?"

"No probs, Slayer. Don't die - it'd make my life a _lot_ less entertaining." The demonic mobster ambled out with his hands in his pockets, whistling. Whistling that damned George Michaels 'Faith' tune, the smartass...

**...**

Dean rapped on the door and walked in while Faith was frowning distractedly at her laptop display and waiting for Wes to return her call. She turned to the door, hand reaching automatically for a weapon, and froze when she saw who it was. He nodded to her and closed the door, leaning up against it with his arms crossed.

"Hey," she said, relaxing. Faith gave him a small glower, "Just walking in like that's a good way to get dead, guy."

Dean gave her a startled look, then waved a hand in apology. "Sorry. I know that, jeeze. I was a bit distracted."

"Deep thoughts?" Faith snorted and gave him a frankly disbelieving look and turned back to the display.

He stared at her, then a half-grin stole across his face. "I guess I deserved that." She made a noncommittal sound. "What're you working on? More vampire research?"

"Taking a break from that." She clicked on the touch pad and frowned at the display, "Ghosts of the Prairie. Trying to find a specific type of place in the Downtown or South Philly area."

"Ah. Interesting site." He looked around the room for awhile, then finally settled his gaze back on her. Unfolding from the door, he stepped forward and set something on the bed next to her laptop. "Not much, I know. Something I saw at the hospital gift shop."

Faith looked at it. A small white stuffed bear wearing a black 'I Heart Doofus' t-shirt. She shook her head and glowered up at him from under her eyebrows, "Kinda dangerous handing me another birthday thing. I might go off again."

"Thought about that," he nodded. "It's not really a birthday thing. More of a peace offering."

"Ah. That's ok then," Faith picked it up and looked at it. "Not really a stuffed animal kind of gal."

Dean looked at her, eyes quizzical, "You're not making this easy."

"Any reason why I should?" Faith lifted an eyebrow and matched him look for look.

"Well... no," he admitted. He took a deep breath, "I was being kind of a dick last time."

"Kind of?" A half grin started twitching at the corner of Faith's mouth in spite of herself. She tamped it down carefully. Damn, he saw it - a matching one started with his. She picked up the bear and looked it over, then set it on the bedside tray, "What makes you think I heart doofuses?"

Dean shrugged. "Best I could do. They didn't have a 'Hi! I'm an asshole!' bear." Faith snickered. He gave her a considering look, "I owe you an apology."

"Sam made you do this, right?" Faith raised both eyebrows and gave him a knowing look.

"No!" Dean shook his head, then met her eyes ruefully. "Not really. Unless you consider telling me I'm an idiot and then not talking to me for the next day 'making me'."

snicker "Knowing Sam? That's probably more effective than him beating you up." She looked at him expectantly and waited.

"What?" He stared back. "Oh. Jeeze." Dean took a deep breath and said, "I apologize for giving you a hard time over this the last time we talked."

"Huh." Faith crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a considering look. "On a scale of one to ten, I'll give that a seven. Four, normally, with bonus points for not choking on it." She paused, thinking, "Additional point for the bear."

"Hey!" Dean glared at her, then thought about it a minute and grinned. "Ok, guess I deserved that."

sigh Faith shook her head, suddenly tired of yanking his chain. "No... you didn't. I'm being a dick now myself, and I'm not nearly as well equipped for it as you are." She looked out the window for a bit, then met his eyes again, "Mutual. And I really don't want to fight right now. What I said came out different than I heard it in my head, and I don't know how to take it back."

"Yeah... look," Dean spread his hands, then started at them. "If it wasn't for you, Sam probably might not be alive right now. You didn't have to stick around after we were attacked. Nor hunt up that healer, give blood, or find us a lawyer." He looked at her, "That counts way more than my ego getting bruised."

"I did have to. My fault you guys were attacked," Faith stated. "Like I said... I couldn't move on after that."

"If we hadn't met, then we might have been attacked looking into something while we were here," Dean shrugged. "And it's even up, anyway: if you hadn't met me, our family demon wouldn't have attacked you. We're just lucky you had something extra that kept it from being a lot worse."

Nod. "Wasn't gonna mention that," she said. "All right. Even up?" She gave him a flat look, "Even though you know I'm not going to back down on blondie being my kill and my responsibility?"

Dean looked out at the snow for a bit, then shook his head and looked back. "Can't say I'm happy about that, but yeah... I understand it." He gave her a hard look, "As long as you let us back you up."

"Fair 'nuff. Said I wasn't going to keep you out of it. Just not on the front line, right?" Faith put her hand out. Dean gave it a puzzled look, then grinned and took it and they shook. "Deal."

"Deal." He said. "Besides, we're family now."

"How you figure?"

"You're Sam's blood brother - you gave him blood." Dean looked thoughtful, "Blood sister?"

"Ah. Don't think it works that way," Faith hid a small grin. "Think you have to exchange blood."

"I'll let you convince Sam of that. I've used up my quota of 'You're an idiot''s from him for this week," Dean said. "He's stubborn."

"Hah." Faith laughed, then frowned, looking distracted. "May be something to that. Slayer blood has odd properties... I don't know much about what it might do giving it in a transfusion and/or infusion. Aside from helping him heal faster." The frown got deeper, "If there'd been another option, I wouldn't have done it. But they were out of his blood type and it was the only way to keep him alive until a healer could get to him."

"You mean like giving him extra abilities?" Dean stared at her.

"Maybe... probably not?" Faith shrugged. "Slayer blood has mystical properties. Vampires and a number of demons consider it a delicacy. It's useful in a number of magical rituals." She gave him a slight head shake, "Don't know. Doubt anything permanent, unless he has mystical properties of his own that you know of?"

"Hrmm." Dean went distracted for several minutes. "Not that I know of, aside from our family demon connection. Not going to worry about it," he shook his head again. "It saved his life."

Faith nodded. They were both quiet for a time, watching the snow. Finally Dean shook himself and asked, "What kind of a place are you looking for?"

"Hrrm. Somewhere to lead blondie for the showdown. Doesn't have to be mystical, but abandoned and with a reputation for being haunted or eerie would help," Faith said. "Need to have room to spread out, and need to keep the innocent bystanders out of the way after I draw her in."

"Trap, maybe? You think she'll come after you alone?"

Faith made a derisive sound. "Naw. For all of her talk of being honorable and 'Rules', she's a vampire and a former slayer to boot. She'll do what's most effective, just as I will." She gave him that half grin and added, "I'm betting she'll have minions to keep any allies I have occupied while she goes after me."

"Which gives us the backup thing," Dean nodded distractedly. He stared at the laptop for a few minutes, thinking. "Hit a search engine and enter 'Eastern State Prison' and 'Philadelphia Hospital at Byberry'. Either of those might do."

"Huh." She pulled up two Google windows and entered the search terms."Advantages to having demon hunters in the family. I may have to let Sam do his blood sister thing," she remarked. She spent some time hitting various websites and Wikipedia and reading. "Huh... are either of them really haunted?" Faith looked up at Dean with an inquiring expression.

"Hard to say," he frowned. "Not so we've been able to discover, but we haven't checked into them ourselves. They were on a list of possibilities for us to look at before we went on to New York and then Ohio."

She nodded and frowned, then tapped the screen with a fingernail. "The prison, I think. Perfect location, and it's in better repair than Byberry. It's embarrassing to break your leg on rubble before you ever get to the fight." Dean snickered and Faith grinned at him. "Don't laugh - I've seen it happen." Faith's eyes went distant for a moment, "And it suits my sense of irony."

"Irony?"

"Prison was where I started rebuilding myself. Fits that it's where I make it clear that I'm not going back to that," she nodded. "This is the missing element I've been needing. Lure her there, and you guys pick off the minions while I set the Big Bad up and deal with her."

"Alone?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Not completely," Faith said. "I don't play fair."

"Good. As long as I get to see her dead," Dean nodded. He cocked his head and looked at her, "We good now?"

"Hrrm." Faith gave him a considering look, "We're better, I think. We can work on good after we're out of here, if you still want." He nodded and she added, "Get Sam later and we can find a movie to watch or something and shoot the breeze."

"Yeah, sounds good. I've already seen that all research and no play makes Faith a weepy grouch," he ducked as she laughed and threw the bear at him. He grinned unrepentantly and leaned against the door again after putting the stuffed toy back in place.

"I'll grouch yer ass," she growled. A thought crossed her mind, "Hey - Gunn fix your O'Brien issues? I keep not asking Five-oh because things get in the way."

"Mostly," Dean sighed. "No charges. Just an irritated chewing out from O'Brien and his partner. But I doubt we're going to get our gear back, or at least most of it aside from the car."

"Heh. Get used to it: cops get grabby when it comes to other people's weapons. Amounts to legalized theft, but there ya go." Dean gave her a sour nod. "At least there's no BATF. Trust me: it's a lot easier to replace hardware than it is to replace two to ten years."

Dean shrugged, "Yeah. Gunn's going to see about getting the legal firearms and weapons turned back over, but he said about the same thing."

**...**

"Hey, Wes," Faith said into the phone. Dean had left after an hour or so, and she was still brooding on the conversation.

"Faith. You sound distracted - did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Huh? No." Faith replied. "Just... a lot on my mind right now. Whatcha got?"

"Very little," Wesley admitted. "Faith... where did you acquire the image that you sent me?"

"The tattoo?" At Wes' confirming sound, she said, "My cop friend caught the guy breaking into my former hotel room. It was on... the inside of his wrist, I think."

"Hrrm." Faith could hear the frown in the voice. "Do they still have him in custody?"

"No. They had to release him."

"Pity, that." There was a pause on the other end, "Do you happen to know what he was posing as?"

"FBI agent, name of Hagerman, I think," she said, automatically, then frowned. "Posing as? Odd question. What do you know, Wes?"

"Very little, I'm afraid."

"You said that before, Wes. What's 'very little' mean?" Faith put a slight edge in her voice. It wasn't difficult...

"sigh It means that I vaguely recognize the symbol, however I don't have much information on it or what it represents - merely enough to arouse my intense curiosity." There was a long silence on Wesley's end of the line. "I believe it is associated in some way with the second branch of the old Watcher's Council."

"Huh? There was another branch?"

"Several of them, actually."

"ok... " Faith processed that one for a bit. "So what does this other branch do?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, unfortunately."

"Wes... " Faith's voice went soft and dangerous. "This is my life you're screwing with. Again. Can't, or won't?"

"Can't. As in 'I really don't know anything about them' can't," he said. "The Watcher's Council was a very secretive society, as I'm sure that you noticed, and the various branches were secretive even from each other. I only discovered that there were other branches by accident - it wasn't advertised."

"Huh. Accident?" Faith rubbed her eyes. She could feel her headache coming back...

"Quite. One of the members of the... first retrieval team sent after you in Sunnydale had that sigil. I believe that branch may be associated with the Council's special ops units, however I was never able to ascertain this, and when I attempted to... I was slapped down rather harshly. It was one of the things that eventually led to my being fired from the Council."

"Ouch." Faith nodded to herself, "So... can't you find out anything through your sources?"

"Attempting to, however... rumour has it that one of the other branches was destroyed almost completely well before the First destroyed the full Council organization - including the various side branches, as near as Giles and myself could determine. There seem to be no surviving records pertaining to the various other branches." He paused, "I haven't had time yet for any extra dimensional sources to turn up anything, if it indeed exists."

"Ok, so Giles doesn't know anything either."

"No. He was genuinely surprised when I described the sigil on the one fellow - he'd never seen a similar mark on any of the Council's operatives." Wes gave a harsh laugh, "Afraid that we rather wrote it off as an individual quirk at the time and didn't pursue it, except for my inquiries. Obviously a mistake on our parts. It wasn't until my trial and forced retirement that I began to believe that there was more to it than that, and by then... "

"By then you didn't have the access or resources to follow up further, yeah," she finished for him. "Sorry I went all killer Faith on you there for a minute."

"Quite. And no apologies necessary," Wes stated. "You can see why my interest sharpened at the thought that this chap might be in custody where he could be laid hands upon."

"Yeah." Faith frowned again, "I'll feed him to Blade, and Vince. Maybe we can arrange to have him shipped to you in a box with airholes so you can ask him some pointed questions."

"That would be most appreciated," Wes laughed softly. "Do remember the airholes, please." He paused, "I'll keep digging, in the meantime."

"Thanks." She was quiet for a long time after he cut the connection, staring out the windows unseeing. Thinking about Council hit teams, Cruciamentum drugs, and chains...


	19. Chapter 19: Ain't gonna be pretty

**Chapter 19: **_**"It ain't gonna be pretty..."**_

(Day 11, _Monday, December 15, 2003_)

_A cemetery at night, natch - when the hell else are you gonna find a Slayer in a graveyard? This one seems to stretch on for miles and miles, dead trees, shadowy movements, deep mist, and low lying fog wreathing the ground. There's headstones in haphazard rows stretching off into the limited visibility, and she can barely make out the forms of crypts off in the distance. Haphazard? Heh. S'a dream, folks. Guess the caretakers just ain't that careful in the dreamways._

_Music? Huh. The long coat swirls about her as she turns and heads off between the gravestones, straining to make out the tune. Ah. There it is..._

_"I get up in the evening, and I ain't got nuthin' to say.  
I come home in the morning, and I go to bed feeling the same way -  
I ain't nuthin but tired, man I'm just tired and bored with myself..._

_Springsteen? Figgers. Only in her dreams. Faith grins and heads off towards the sound, humming under her breath. Good thing it's a dream - Xander'd never let her live it down if he caught her humming a Boss tune. At least it's not fucking 'Mandy'. She snickers._

_"You can't start a fire, you can't start a fire without a spark -  
This gun's for hire... even if we're just dancing in the dark."_

_Ah well. At least it's one of the Boss' good ones. One of the ones that speaks to her..._

_She comes over a small rise and there's a break in the fog and mist, and through it she sees a mausoleum, and movement. The movement resolves into a slim, dark girl, with long, long hair, twisting and turning in an intricate leaping kata to the music. Dark red leather to Faith's black, and high heeled boots. Boombox on top of a headstone, that's where the music's coming from. Seems kinda disrespectful to the dead... but hey: no more so than anything else she's seen._

_  
Faith found the lyrics running through her mind to the breif snatches of music, her head almost unconsciously bobbing along. __'I check my look in the mirror, I wanna change my clothes, my hair my face!' A grin split her face as she thought, __'Yup. Been there, done that thing. And still ain't gettin' nowhere.' _

_Something familiar about the black girl, but she can't place it. Faith steps and a small jump takes her to the top of a headstone where she balances squatting on the balls of her feet like a perching raven. Ghost quiet, that jump, but not silent enough - the other woman hears her and spins, takes her in with a flash of blinding white smile._

_She spins and turns the next wheeling punch into a gesture, an invitation, and Faith laughs and nods. She launches herself from the gravestone and lands already moving, matching the other girl's rythm and studying the graceful movements. Not her style... but hey, girl's adaptable, y'know? She blends her __styles into the others and the kata becomes dance. Dance of death... __can't start fires without no sparks, no way, no how.  
_

_Other girl draws a pair of knives, and Faith's not even startled. She draws her own and they blend cold steel into the dance... flashing blades passing millimeters from skin and leather, never once in danger of touching. Faith leans back instinctively from a slash that would have taken the throat out of a non-slayer and laughs, a flash of grin meeting the laugh from the other. Nerve endings out past her skin, and she's enjoying herself here. Dancing in a place of death - and it's been a long time since she's felt more alive, she realizes..._

_Kicks, cuts, thrusts, and parries blend together, exhilarating. Intoxicating them both: she can feel the other slayer's blood pulsing with the beat._

_They break apart laughing, gravely tossing half mocking bows to each other. The other girl sheaths her blades with a flourish, and Faith matches suit. She nods appreciatively to the other, wavy hair bouncing on her shoulders._

_"Caporiera, huh? And... Fillipino blade styles?" Faith gives her an inquisitive look._

_"Yeah mon," the other girl bobs her head with enthusiasm. "Is good match, no? Sometink de vamps, dey not expect." It's the accent that does it for her, makes it click. She cocks her head, eyes lighting._

_"Kendra," Faith states. "You're Kendra, right?"_

_"Kendra, de Vampire Slayer, yah." The black girl cocks her head in return, grinning. "An' you be Faith, mon. Dancer at de Dark."_

_Faith throws her head back, laughing. "Yup. S'me all right." She shoots a glance at the boombox and raises an eyebrow, "Springsteen?"_

_"Yeah mon," Kendra agrees. "Before I die, Xander he, how you say, turn me on?"_

_snicker "Yeah, mon. He did that to me once, too." Faith can't help laughing at the girl's __uncomprehending look at that, "No worries. I know what you mean." She grins, "Wicked accent, girl."_

_Kendra shrugs, "My accent, it is what it is." She regards Faith with a critical eye. "I chose you, yes?"_

_"Yeah... however that works," Faith shook her head. "I'd say I'm sorry about that, but I'm kinda not, you know?"_

_"Is how you say... no worries?" Faith nods. "Is de way it is. One dies, another is Called."_

_"Well.. not these days, anyway. Back then, yeah," Faith replies._

_"I know." Kendra shakes her head, "Back den, you Called in de Old Ways. I tink I chose well, no?"_

_"I'm not always so sure about that," Faith crossed her arms over her chest and gave her predecessor a sober look._

_"Well, isn't this cozy. Past meets Present," a third voice cuts across Faith and her companion. Both of them turn, separating slightly and tensing. Faith can feel the mixture of slayer essence and vampire from the voluptuous figure perched atop the mausoleum. Cutting her eyes to the other girl, she can see Kendra register it as well._

_"Elora Ménard," Faith says, without pleasure. "And you'd be the bird of ill omen we were missing. Fly away. Or, better yet... " Faith draws her aspect about herself and the Valdris blades come into her hands in a crackle of green fire. "Come on down. Join the dance." She sees Kendra start, then give an accepting nod._

_"Stand easy, Slayer. I'm not here to fight," Elora remarks. "Besides... I don't believe we can kill, here."_

_"You might be surprised," Faith remarks. "They're just not makin' Dreams the way they usedta, y'know?" She shook her head, then, and willed the blades away. "Still... " Elora nods, and jumps down from the roof of the mausoleum to land lightly before them, several feet away._

_"Nice trick. I'm impressed," she says._

_"Yah. Was going to keep them a surprise, then I decided it doesn't matter." That sensual half grin came onto Faith's lips and settled there. Elora raised an eyebrow, and Faith matched it. "I'm coming for you, kiddo. Next we meet, you finish dying." The grin slid all the way across her lips, "Way I understand, it's long overdue."_

_"You sound awfully certain of yourself," Elora gave her a searching look._

_"Am." Faith nodded. "You took me off stride at the ER. That was the last time. Both of the others... I out thought you, set you up, and took you apart. Next time I'll do the same. There won't be a next time after."_

_"You didn't exactly come off unscathed."_

_"No. Din't, did I?" Faith laughed, "But you __weren't__ ahead on points." The blonde woman grinned back, shaking her head, but Faith noticed she didn't argue the point. She had a sudden, surprising burst of __empathy for the other woman: slayer, trapped in the essence of what she was born to destroy for centuries, spiraling ever farther into the dark. Out of control. There but for something... she saw a flash of recognition in the blonde's eyes._

_"My daughter is right, I tink." Kendra said, breaking the momentary connection. Elora lifted an eyebrow and gave her an inquiring look. "You are an abomination. You should have been released from this long ago." She gave the blonde woman a shrewd look, "I tink this is why you have sought her out. Darkness to darkness, seeking an ending to de long night, yes?"_

_"No." Elora shook her head, taking a step back. "Not even close, little girl."_

_"I tink so," the black girl took a step forward. "You are Killer, and yet you play games and do not kill. I see in my daughter's past dat you have had opportunity, no? And yet you strike and dance away, teasing de T'ing That Hunts, even though you of all know it is not a t'ing to be teased." She took another step and Elora raised a hand. "You know I speak de troot, and you would strike it away, yes?"_

_Faith put a hand on Kendra's shoulder, and drew her back, shaking her head. "Every Slayer has a death wish, Elora. I think Kendra's gots the right of it." She met the blonde's eyes and locked them, "So. Why are you here, in this place?"_

_"I'm not sure... " Elora shook her head. "I don't have Slayer Dreams any longer. Haven't in centuries. You drew me here, perhaps?"_

_"Maybe." Faith conceded the possibility. "Why me?" She knew she needn't explain the 'why'._

_"We were much alike, once," the blonde said, and then looked away into the mist and the fog. "It gets lonely in the Dark. One begins to long for a Childer who knows both the darkness, and the light. And knows the sweet, hot, rush of giving oneself over to both when dealing death." She met Faith's gaze, emerald eyes to dark. "Someone to talk to through the long spans of time, a warmth against the cold." She smiled softly, "You are a Childe that's worthy of me."_

_Faith nodded, slowly. "Not going to happen." She shook her head, "But I do understand."_

_"Yes. You would, Slayer," the blonde looks away again._

_"I'm sorry. And I'm going to hate myself for this," Faith chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. Elora met her gaze again, surprised at the words or the soft tone. "Don't know much about your kind - yet. But I can't say I really disapprove of your little war. Draaken are scum, and anyone who'd take down the obscenity that was that blood factory, for whatever reasons... has a break coming from me. So... " Faith's eyes narrowed, "Begone. Leave this place... and I won't hunt you. Don't cross my path again, and don't ever harm my friends or family."_

_"Sorry. As you said: not going to happen," Elora sighed, and her eyes were dark._

_"Yeah. Figured." Faith nodded. "Then begone from my mind, vampire. Next we meet, you die." Elora nods, and slowly fades from the cemetery, and from the dream._

_"You have an interesting life, I tink, Slayer," Kendra remarked._

_"Yeah. I'm all with the interesting," Faith said in a sour tone, then grinned. "So... daughter, huh?" An eyebrow quirked at the younger black girl._

_"It is the way of things among us, no? Buffy Summers died and gave birth to me. I die, and you are born," Kendra grinned. "It is of the blood, mon."_

_"Does this mean that Drusilla is my daddy?" Faith snickered._

_"Oh no," Kenrda's eyes went wide and shocked, and then she doubled over laughing. "T'at is just... wrong, it is, mon."_

_"Hey, one big happy dysfunctional family. Fucking insane all down the line an' shit." Faith laughed at the other girl's expression, then sobered. "I'm glad I got to meet you."_

_"Me too," the other girl smiled. "Be strong, Slayer. Be well." Darkness took them both as the cemetary faded around her..._

Waking, Faith took out her guitar for the first time since she woke in the hospital and sat for a long time tuning and playing at it softly. Playing anything _but_ Springsteen...

Spend part of the morning talking with Dawn. The physical therapist the hospital assigned her really doesn't have a lot to do for her, so she gets in a full, long workout instead. PT lady does have some useful tips on weight lifting and exercise though, and Faith soaks them up. Gonna learn, learn from experts. Maxed out, the weight machines here aren't even a stretch. She misses Blade's weight room... was cool to finally find a set that forced her to push. An hour long kata performed full out at near invisible speeds in a secluded corner of the gym does what the weights can't. Laps in the pool to cool down, and she climbs out onto the tiles dripping.

A quick glance around the gym as she's heading out shows that she's alone. She takes a short step and hop and launches herself up, tucking and somersaulting in place, toes almost brushing the high ceiling at apogee. Lands on the balls of her feet light and balanced, laughing. Coiled and loose and wired for sound. Damned near one hundred percent.

_'Smokin' hot,'_ she thinks. _'One more night in this place, and tomorrow I'm gone. Time to break up the party and kill the fuck outta something.'_

Grab lunch in the hospital cafeteria. Huh - they actually manage to get good food in here. So what explains the slop-on-a-tray that comes to the rooms? _'Never mind, don't answer that, self,'_ Faith makes a face. _'I'm sure I don't wanna know'_. Comfortably stuffed after four helpings, and lots of coffee and milk. Does a body good, y'know? Call Gunn and ask him to meet her up here tomorrow morning late to help her check out, in case they want to give her a hassle. Leave a voice mail on Blade's phone to ask if he's got a place to base out of (yeah, stupid question - he's here afterall) and if King can meet her when she leaves.

Coolness. Only 16 hours or so left to not go nuts in. _'Could walk out AMA now, but not gonna. Gonna do this right, an' not leave a mess behind.'_ Besides, as far as hospitals go, this one's not bad once you get the doctors and nurses trained. Much better than SunnyD's coma ward or the prison infirmary.

A lot of the people are actually kinda nice here. Whoda thunk it.

**...**

Detective Giambione made a big show of checking his watch when O'Brien came slouching in to the squad room. He got the dirty look for it he was expecting, too.

"Wow. It's before 2pm. The dead do walk," he remarked. Frank pushed a half box of donuts across the desk to his partner. O'Brien grunted, dropping into a chair and yawning, and grabbed a chocolate.

"Ha ha." Obie gave him a sour look. "I'll have you know I have seen daylight on occasion."

"Yeah, but usually not after working a crime scene until 5am," Giambione gave him an amused look. They'd spent the last six hours of their shift looking into a shot up South Philly bar followed by compiling reports from the various investigating detectives.

"You were out just as late," O'Brien remarked.

"Yeah... but I'm not like, ancient." Frank snickered at his partners sour look. "I have youthful resilience."

"Considering you saw forty in your rear view waving goodbye last year, I'm not impressed." Both of them swiveled to watch Stevie slouch in yawning, slam a stack of folders on her desk with a growl, and slump into a chair. They exchanged amused glances.

"Surveillance not going so well?" O'Brien asked, getting up to pour her a cup of coffee and set it on a clear spot.

"No, no - it's going fine, Obie. Just _fine_." Stevie downed half the cup with a grateful expression. "I love it when my subject vanishes into thin air out from under me and Colby and Carson." She gave him a malevolent look, "Leaving us sitting on our cans freezing while he's off laughing his ass off, no doubt."

"Hagerman?" Giambione raised an eyebrow.

"Yup." She nodded. "Regular locked room mystery: went into his hotel room, lights went out, and he never came back out. About noon one of the plainclothes spotted him down near the hospital and we got the manager to check his room on a pretext. Empty. Bed was never slept in."

"Slick," O'Brien said. "Don't sweat it: we already figured this guy's no amateur. You get a team in to figure out how he got out without being seen?"

"I'm no amateur either. Christine's heading it up," Stevie yawned. "I told Carson and Burns to sleep in while I did the reports. We'll pick up again tonight." She got up to refill her coffee. "So, how'd your and Frank's night go?"

"snort Someone shot up a clandestine bar in South Philly. Piles of ash everywhere, bullet holes, no bodies." Giambione made a disgusted face.

"Our blonde friend?" Stevie asked.

"Maybe. It's a way to bet," O'Brien said. He paused, looking thoughtful. "Silver bullets."

"Huh." Stevie had considering look, "Well, if it's like that warehouse, then it's definitely a case of scumbag kills scumbag, no humans involved."

"Literally," O'Brien nodded.

Frank glanced over at him, "So, what's up for today, Obie?"

"Why don't you go down to the local FBI branch offices and see if you can con anything out of their SAC on Hagerman?" Giambione made a face, then nodded. "I'm going to head over to the hospital for awhile, then I'll catch up with you."

Giambione smirked and exchanged amused looks with Stevie. "More father/daughter bonding time? You made her cry last time around."

"Don't even start, Frank," O'Brien warned, standing up with a groan and stretching. "Don't even start."

**...**

Sam Winchester looked up when she stopped in the open door to their room, and a huge grin flashed across his face. "Hey!" He picked up the remote and shut the TV off.

"Hey yourself," Faith returned the grin. "Where's the bro?"

"Figures. All the pretty girls only say hey because they want to get to Dean," Sam made a face and Faith laughed. "They rolled him out just a bit ago for x-rays and PT. You just missed him."

Faith nodded, "No worries. And don't think I'm buying that 'I never get the girl' routine, either, tough guy."

"Damn. There goes my best line," Sam winked. "What brings you by?"

"Wanted to see how you were doing." She gave him a searching look, "You seem a lot better now?"

"Yeah. Could actually get up and walk, if they'd let me," Sam stated, frowning. "They say they want to keep me another several days to a week, though. Make sure the internal injuries are completely healed."

"Sucks. Good plan though - you don't want to be walkin' around thinking you're fine and suddenly keel over. Ruins your day," Faith said. Sam grinned, nodding. "Means you'll miss out on the festivities though."

"Festivities?" He gave her a curious look.

"I'm about as close to 100 as I'm going to get in here. Checking myself out in the morning," Faith told him. "Going to go on the prowl after, draw out vampy, and ice her."

"Ah," Sam nodded. "Smack her a couple for me, huh?"

"You don't mind not being in on it?" Faith lifted an eyebrow.

Sam gave her a thoughtful look, "I'd like to kill her myself, but I don't have to. Knowing she's dead and we don't have to watch over our shoulders is good. Just... don't get yourself killed doing it." Faith raised both eyebrows at that, and Sam grinned. "Have to apologize for my brother. He gets protective at times and it warps his judgment."

"What big brothers and sisters are for, I'm told," Faith said evenly. "And no, you don't. Only one someone needs to apologize for is themselves. Other people can't do it for them."

"Maybe." Sam's expression was dubious on that one. "I'm glad we ran into you, good and bad included. And I appreciate all the stuff you've been doing for us."

Faith ran a bemused look over the hospital beds, the IV, and Sam's bruises. "Good and bad? I'm kinda to blame for you being in here."

"You're as bad as Dean on that. Stop it," Sam shot her a glower. "You didn't do this, that blonde did. If you'd known, you'd have stopped her before she got to us." He shook his head, "If people can't apologize for other people, then they can't take responsibility for what other people do, either. Right?"

"Maybe," Faith shook her head. "We can argue about it after this is done."

"No arguments on it," Sam grinned. "Just ice the bitch so she can't do it again, and we're even."

**...**

He found Faith sitting cross legged on her bed with her guitar on her lap when he came in following her soft, "Come on in, Five-oh,". O'Brien leaned against the door frame, studying the girl sitting eyes closed with long fingers moving across the strings. a dark wing of hair falling forward across her face.

Not a voice that he would have expected: a soft whiskey contralto, pleasantly rough and gentle on the ears. Not a professional player, but while a bit rough in places, there was a definite skill to her playing.

She shot him a flash of dark eyes from under the hair, and a softer version of that cocky half grin, then closed her eyes again bending over the strings...

_"Lonesome and lonely, far from my home  
Try'in to get back t'where I know I belong  
Wishin' and a hopin' I was already there  
I just heard a voice whispered in my ear -_

_"Singin' ..There goes another love song  
Someone's singin about me again  
There goes another love song -  
Now I need more then a friend,  
Now I'm needing more then a friend."_

She worked her way through the closing bridge, then leaned back against the pillows as the last soft, clean, pure note trailed off, and opened her eyes.

"Nice," O'Brien observed, and she grinned, nodding.

"The voice or the guitar?"

"Both," he said. "That is a pretty elegant looking guitar, though."

"Thanks," she said, agreeing. "Dobro. Paul Beard resonator acoustic. One of the first really nice things I ever bought for myself... cost more than I really had at the time." She gave him a curious glance, "You play?"

"Not me," O'Brien put his palms out, shaking his head. "And you heard Frank's views on my singing."

"Ah. Thought maybe that was one of those banter things," she laughed when O'Brien shook his head with a rueful expression. "I'm learning... a little bit at a time."

"How long have you been working at it?"

"Since a couple of months after good old Sunnyhell went down da hole," she laughed again softly at his surprised look. "Slayer gifts are good for more than picking up weapon and combat skills fast, it seems. I still have to practice a lot, but I can watch someone and pick up the movements and the chord changes. Rest is tuning what I've acquired - that takes time." Faith winked, "Helps that I have very close to perfect pitch: I can hear when the sound isn't right and work at it until it matches what's in my head."

He nodded, "That a slayer gift, also?"

"Naw. Not sure where that one came from. Born with it... " Faith's eyes went distant, then she looked down at the guitar and smiled. "She keeps me company when I'm on the road a lot. Gives me something to do when I'm not in the mood to read, patrol, or go hit a bar."

"Yeah. Could understand that," O'Brien said. "Didn't recognize the song?"

"Outlaws. Appropriate, huh?" They both laughed and she added, "I like newer faster music: metal, industrial, grunge, punk... whatever - but it doesn't translate real well to acoustic. So I started picking up the older and slower stuff to learn on... and discovered I liked a lot of it." She looked out the window, "I met a guy named Spider John at a bar out near Long Island once. He taught me a lot. Picked up more listening to classic rock and oldies stations."

"Spider John?" O'Brien gave her a blank look.

"Folk and Traditional guitarist, but he can play damned near anything. Spider John Koerner," Faith replied. "He's reinventing the twelve string, a string at a time." She looked through the wall for a bit before continuing, "I came in off the road one day and found myself at loose ends because the SO had other things to do. That was happening a lot there, near the end... So I said 'Screw this', grabbed my guitar case and bike and took off to amuse myself." She laughed, softly. "Ended up at a roadhouse where this weird looking guy was up on the stage without a mike puttin' out some of the best smoky blues you ever heard... " The dark eyes went mischievous, "Ended up sitting at a corner table doing a four day alphabetic drunk and talking guitars and music non-stop until he had to go to a gig, and I headed out again."

"Straight through?" O'Brien raised an eyebrow, "They didn't kick you out at closing time?"

"Started to. Spider talked to the owner and they ended up throwin' him the keys and said to lock up if we left before daybreak," she laughed. "We left before daybreak all right - just several days later."

"You do that a lot? Get drunk and close down bars?" O'Brien gave her a look that was more than half frown.

"With strange men?" Faith lifted an eyebrow and shook her head. "Naw. Mostly a few beers or a cold Irish Whiskey. It takes a lot to get me drunk... and it's usually not worth it. By the time I'm seriously drunk, it's damned near alcohol poisoning, and recovering the next day is a bitch." She made a face, "'Sides... gettin' seriously sloshed reminds me too much of my mom. I'm not going there. No drugs and no alcoholism for this girl."

"No drugs?" O'Brien lifted an eyebrow.

"Brings the cop out in you, huh, Five-oh?" Faith snickered. "Naw. Weed before I was Called. After... it's the same as alcohol. Slayer healing burns most drugs and poisons out fast. I don't like the taste or smell of weed enough to want to smoke enough to get past that; I don't like needles or killing my sense of smell with other stuff; and the idea of damned near OD'ing on coke or whatever just for a buzz doesn't do me - even without the junkie mom association thing." That half grin drew up the corner of her lips, "On the other hand... slayer healing means that I can enjoy a decent cigar and not have to worry about lung cancer, so it's a good trade."

"Good," he nodded. "I don't care much for what the narcotics crusaders have turned drug policing into, but I've seen too many people destroy themselves with drugs to enjoy the idea. You probably have too."

"Yes, Dad," Faith grinned, nodding. Her eyes narrowed slightly, "Drug trade wouldn't exist the way it does if it wasn't for the narcotics crusaders, though. But it's not my job to deal with human monsters, no matter what side of the law they say they're on, thank the idiot gods. It's yours."

"Argument for a different time," O'Brien said, shaking his head. "That one would probably last us all week."

"Yup. And you'd lose," Faith gave him an insouciant look. "So... anything new breaking?" She changed the subject.

O'Brien sighed. "Some. Our FBI agent gave Stevie the slip and we're trying to relocate him. And someone left ashes and bullet holes all over an unlicensed bar in South Philly."

Nod. "I'll suggest to Vince to have his people keep an eye out for the guy. Ashes?" She frowned, "Blondie working her way through the vampire bars?"

"It's the way to bet, probably. Your friend Vince?" O'Brien raised an eyebrow. "Or is that another card I haven't paid to see yet?"

"Got it in one," Faith agreed. "I won't say Vince is one of the good guys, if there are any in this... but he's walking on the side of the angels lately. Don't worry - he's not a threat to your city, and you'll probably end up getting the four-one-one before we're done here."

"I'll hold you to that," O'Brien warned.

"You'll try, anyway," Faith's lips twitched and her eyes went mischievous again. "So... what can you tell me about Eastern State Prison here in Philly?"

That got her a curious look. "Why?" O'Brien asked.

"Looks like the best all around place to lure miss vampy to and deal with her, based on what I dug up on the 'net. Near South Philly, more or less. Closed, mostly abandoned, large grounds... but it's walled off and doesn't have casual bystander traffic to worry about. Lots of room and hiding places for playing tag with any minions she brings in. Rumoured to be haunted, which makes it appealing."

O'Brien gave that some thought, and nodded. He laid out what he knew about the place, and its history.

"Works," she said finally, nodding. "Think you can figure out a way arrange things to pull off what few security people there might be around there a couple or so nights from now? On the QT... ? We'll finish this there."

O'Brien considered for a bit, and she let him work it through. "Should be possible," he allowed.

"Good. I'll give you a call for when," she gave him a thoughtful look. "Make sure you can bring your squad together tomorrow night, also... armed. Whatever you err... acquired from that warehouse, and shotguns with incendiaries if you have them."

O'Brien gave her a long look, and she added, "You're already in past your eyebrows. Figure it's past time you got a look at the real underworld in this town. We're going to rattle some cages, let them know there's a new Sheriff in town, and I'm going to teach you everything I know about handling the supernatural that can be done in a few days." A wolf grin came over her lips and settled there, "And we're going to put the word out that this is a vampire free city from here on in, and I'm going to see what I can do about getting you set up to keep it that way. Sound good?"

"No." A similar grin crossed O'Brien's face and matched hers. "But it sounds satisfying."

"Yer right. There ain't nuthin' 'good' about it," Faith's eyes flashed golden for a moment. "The Thing the Darkness Fears hit your city, and your city hit back. Time I reminded them why that ain't such a smart idea." She winked, "It ain't gonna be pretty, but it's gonna be effective as all hell."

O'Brien laughed, "Kid, I gave up on 'pretty' after the first serial killing I worked. I'll settle for 'effective'." He gave her a critical once over, "Tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. I'm ready to blow this joint. I'm checking out tomorrow, one way or the other," Faith said. "Can you get your partner to drop off my hardware he said he was keeping for me, sometime tonight?"

Nod. "We'll drop it by later."

Faith nodded back. "Good deal. And... considering you're not going to arrest him, can you get Dean's car released and brought up here for him?"

"Now you're pushing it, kid," O'Brien joked, and she laughed.

* * *

_- Lyrics to "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen; lyrics to "There goes another love song" by The Outlaws._


	20. Chapter 20: Only shooting stars

**Chapter 20: **_**"Only shooting stars... "**_

(Day 12; _Tuesday, December 16, 2003_)

You always get dressed from the skin out. Leather, natch, including the under stuff. First the panties, then the pants. Soft, supple black calfskin that hug like a second skin and a coat of paint. In all the right places, too - and all the wrong ones. These aren't the el cheapo leathers that were all she can afford before and after she hit Sunnydale. These are the real thing: tailored, butter soft and as smooth as fresh cream. They've got zipper calves and kevlar reinforcement over the knees. They don't bind when you move even though there's probably not room for a random molecule between them and the skin, because real leather stretches and slides with you.

_

* * *

Boston to New York to Baltimore to... damn. Too many places to remember. Always on the run, always scared, never daring to stop because Khakistos was always right behind her with Trick and those maenads of his. Never quite daring to turn around and fight. And never able to get rid of the mind's eye images of Khakistos ripping Diana in half after he was done with her. At least he didn't turn her..._

_There were people along the way, yeah. Like that Winchester guy who bought her a dinner when she tried to pick him up. And that younger couple in Kentucky who fed her and wanted her to stay. She'd wanted to stay, too... but no. Not gonna happen. You don't dare get too close, stay too long, because they'll die too, just like Diana did._

_Working a few jobs here and there, stealing when she couldn't avoid it because she had to have bus fare. Hated the stealing, but whatcha gonna do? That last long ride to Sunnydale through California from Nevada, sitting next to that idiot college guy who kept trying to grope her. Not like she couldn't do something about it, but breaking his arm and gettin' tossed off of the bus somewhere in the Sierras didn't appeal, y'know? Grit your teeth and put up with it til the Sunnydale terminal. Heh. Wouldn't that have rocked Willow's world, knowing the 'skanky ho' broke the guys wrist when he tried to 'help' her get her bag out of the overhead with a hand on her ass. Not that Wills would've believed it._

_No makey. She's here now, and pretty soon she's going to hook up with B and her Watcher and find some help. Buds. Allies. And maybe, just maybe, not be alone any more._

_Yeah. Right._

_"Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me  
I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed  
She was looking kinda dumb with her fingers and her thumb  
In the shape of an "L" on her forehead... "_

_That sure the fuck worked, din't it?_

* * *

The boots go on next, over thick, black, calf high athletic socks. None of that high heeled crap: B may think it's high slayer fashion to take advantage of slayer balance and dance with the deadlies in high heels, and yeah, it looks hot - but no thanks. She likes solid soles that grip and steel caps that'll crush bone, not toes, when you smash a kneecap or skull with them. Black, buckle up, steel toed Harley-Davidson Furies. HD may not make the best bikes in the world, but their boots are hard to beat. _Stylin'._ She bounced lightly, testing the fit. Yup. Dancin' shoes for the dance of death.

_

* * *

Her vision blurs as she's slammed hard into the fence, pulled off it and then slammed into it again by the Sisterhood of Jhe member. The demon yanks her off of it again but she shakes off the impact and backhands her across the face, snapping the bitch's head to one side. Follows it up with a fist to the gut that's blocked and the demoness laughs and hurls her to the ground by the arms, one of her shoulders dislocating. Faith rolls to her feet and kicks it in the head and knee as it lunges in. The follow up kick is blocked and she's thrown into the fence again, and blackness closes in at the edges of her vision. She manages to grab the fence with both hands, pulling herself up to slam a double footed kick into the demoness' gut and throw it off... but she knows as she does that it's a temporary save. She's going to die here, finally, and some new slayer'll get called. Not that anyone will give a shit..._

_A car slams into the Jhe demon and tosses it off far to one side. It backs out into the street again as the Sister gets up and Xander yells out the window, "Faith! Get in!" She dives into through the window and dives into the back seat as Xander guns it and hauls ass out of there._

_Back at her motel, Xander asks if she thinks the Demon Mama followed them, and then she tells him her shoulder's dislocated and asks him to hold her while she pops it back in. What followed after was... pretty damned nice. Huh._

_She never was able to explain, even to herself, why she threw him back out into the street in his underwear shortly after. Get some, get gone. They can't get close, can't dump you first, if you grab and roll and toss them away before they do. Problem was... she didn't think 'toss her away' was in Xander's play book - and she didn't know how to deal with anything else. A pity, that._

_"Well the years start coming and they don't stop coming  
Break all the rules and you hit the ground running  
Doesn't make sense not to live for fun  
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb... "_

_Just a guy, anyway. No big._

* * *

Leather top over the sports bra. Black, of course, k? Just assume 'black' for everything to make the descriptions shorter, and you'll be cool. Ok, black and red for the top, happy now? Just a few hints of red so dark it's damned near black, in the side panels and trim, and black-red laces down the sides. No kevlar, nothing special on this: anything she fights is going to cut through kevlar like butter anyway, so this is for show, not go. It packages the goodies and shows off the midriff nicely, and that's what counts. Live hard, die young, and leave a stylin' corpse, y'know?

_

* * *

Cordelia smacked her on the arm, frowning. "Rule Number One, Faith: Don't Die." She gave her a fierce look. "Don't you *dare* fucking die."_

_"ow!" Faith stepped back, startled. That *hurt*, dammit._

_"You listen to me, dammit." Cordelia stepped nose to nose with the Slayer, glaring. "You are NOT the 'Fuckup Slayer', damn you. You are the fucking Chosen One. You *will* not fucking die on me: I've lost too damned many people I care about already, and I'm going to lose more. You are not going to be one of them. I will resurrect both of us and beat the living crap out of you if you do. You have everything you need to do this, everyone around you you need. Just draw on them, dammit. They're good people you've fallen in with. They can help you, if you let them in. Lose that damned 'I'm a screwup' shtick you're so fond of and grow out of it - it doesn't fit you so well any more. You didn't let Angel down, you didn't let Wesley down, and you didn't screw up in Sunnyhell when it counted the last time. You're not that beaten, terrified fifteen year old any more."_

_Faith stepped back again. Wow. "Damn. Let me guess: that's not a Power talking, that's the pure QueenC, huh?" She nodded._

_Cordelia met her eyes evenly, gaze smoking. "Damn straight, Faith."_

_"So much to do so much to see  
So what's wrong with taking the back streets?  
You'll never know if you don't go -  
You'll never shine if you don't glow..."_

_Never saw that one coming. Faith and the QueenC - all buds beyond the veil and shit. Huh. Too bad the idiot gal had to go all coma on her before that happened._

* * *

Chaps go on next, always. Shotgun chaps, with a row of silver conchos down the outer edge. Heavier leather than the pants, natch, and these are also reinforced - a layer of kevlar under the top surface and nygord over the kneecaps and ankles. Buttery smooth like the pants, so even though they're heavier, they're still as supple as silk and they bend and flow with you like air over your skin. Zipper calf in the lining, like the pants, to allow access to whatever is stashed in the boots...

_

* * *

They never looked at her like that, only B. Like a hero - some kinda Golden Girl all with the trust and the likin' an' shit. Her... her they always looked at like Southie trash, even the ones that wouldn't know what 'Southie' meant if they fell in it and had to live there. Like something dangerous and exotic that wandered up out of nowhere. Stray cat that you pet and throw food to when it gets your attention, call out when there's vermin in the Hellmouth, and shove to one side when the killin' is done. A big cat, yeah, more stray lioness than alley cat. But you don't get close, and you don't trust it, because you never know for sure if the bars are gonna hold..._

_Ok, that's not really fair. Not that fair's got jack-all to do with it. Xander tried, twice. Second time, she tried to kill him, first time she tossed him out in the street in his underwear. But he didn't try too hard, did he? Never said a word to the Watcher about that dump he and B found her in. Never really tried to bring her in for more than just the killing. No 'hang out and go watch movies' or 'let's go grab a bite to eat with the gang' or 'hey - wanna help figure this out?' Happy enough to just snag her when there was something to kill, and then wander off with the rest of the Scoobs and let her wander back to whatever. See ya. Just don't wanna be seen with ya, y'know?_

_Blew all of her money on that dress. Worth it almost... damned sweet dress. This Girl looked real hot in it. B was all up for doin' the Homecoming thing together, go grab some guys and shake it and get past that awful look she had over that idiot Scott jerkoff and the Homecoming Queen comp with C. Yeah... that lasted up until the Scoobs decided that what was needed was to get B and C together to iron out their feud and braced her over it. "Hey, Faith - mind givin' up your place in the limo for Cordelia along with the rest of us so they can work this out?" Oh yeah. "Hey - don't mind at all. Not like I had plans, or nuthin', y'know?" Don't mind me._

_Never even asked what she did instead. Probably didn't even notice when she skated out early. She didn't even find out that Trick had some guys go all assassin on Cordy and B until later.... and that by accident._

_No big. Just a dress. And just a stupid dance. Don't mean nuthin', babe._

_At least she fixed that Scott asshole pretty damned good. Didn't even need any violence. You don't fuck over my friends, boy. Even if they're not really friends. Just ain't done._

* * *

A pair of stakes go in the loops at the back of the chaps, just for old times sake, even though she's gone way beyond the need for them in the past year. S'tradition, y'know? Vampire Slayer and a stake go together like New England and chowdah. Not your average hand carved stakes: Xander made these on a lathe and they're hand turned lignum vitae, hard as hell and sharp as the devil with knurled grips that won't slip in dust nor blood, and balanced just they way she likes 'em. Just a touch heavy in the point.

_

* * *

She didn't know where he'd found a lathe or a wood working shop near the Hyperion, but he had. She found him in the lobby looking grimly pleased with himself and taking sharp wooden things out of a bag and laying them out in sets on the counter, and wandered over to see what was up._

_"Damn, X-man. Those are sweet," she said, picking one of the stakes up and giving it a careful once over. Didn't cost nuthin' to make the guy feel appreciated, not after everything he'd done and been through, and besides... those were nice, dammit._

_That lopsided grin came back for just a second and flashed away. It never stayed for long, not since Anya died. "Yeah, are aren't they?" He nodded. "Balanced," he said, flipping one in his hand. "They have a steel shaft through the center so they won't break. And a checkered grip to make sure they don't slip when you have sweat or blood on you... Will did something to 'em she said she'd been looking up to make them last longer. Some preservation thing."_

_"Yeah, nice." Faith sighed inside and laid the stake back down on the counter, reluctantly. Nice: for Vi, and B, and Rona, and all the rest. Maybe even for Kennedy. Faith stuck her hands in her pockets and started to wander off to see what Angel was up to._

_"Hey!" She turned around, a half irritated crease between her eyebrows. "Aren't you going to take those with you?" Xander slid four of the stakes over to her and she looked down at them blankly. "I was going to wait until everyone was together to pass them out, but since you're already here... " he shrugged._

_She never knew that the look that flashed over her face just then was the same one a kid has on Christmas, and he never said. Just stood there and smirked as she shoved the stakes into her belt, and went off grinning._

_"The ice we skate is getting pretty thin  
The waters getting warm so you might as well swim  
My world's on fire how about yours  
That's the way I like it and I never get bored."_

_Ok, so maybe he's not 'just a guy'. Whoda thunk it?_

* * *

Next come the knives. The big Moeller made boot knife goes on the right through the buckle straps on the Furies. Seven and a half inch folded steel blade that looks like damascus but isn't quite, over a folded core of soft, cold iron and layered with silver. No need for enchantment on this one: magic of the maker went into every fold and she'd never seen a need to get it mojo'd. Ebony grip and a brass alloy half guard that curls down over the knuckles, with silver pins holding the slad grips to the full tang. The big dagger goes on the left. Looks like a Hibben double shadow, but it ain't. Gots a wicked, closed point instead of that odd split that the double shadow has, and the skeletonized slots in the heavy part of the blade are inlaid with ironwood. Silver alloyed folded steel like the Moeller, but this one is mojo'd - Willow did them for her along with the throwing spikes and the rest of the steel.

_

* * *

"I don't understand." Faith shot the red headed witch a suspicious glare, cutting across the tail end of the mystical babble._

_"Oh! I'm sorry! I can slow down and try to make it simpler?" Red gave her a startled look and Faith waved it away._

_"Not stupid, Wills. I got the gist of the mojo stuff. Preservation and anti-decay and ever-sharpness and extra dimensional pocket spaces and anti-evil an' all," Faith looked at her. "What I don't understand is why you're offering to do all of this. For me. Even if we got along ok after you put Angel's soul back, we ain't never been each other's favorite people - hey: skank, killer, psycho-slayer? Any of this ring bells yet?"_

_"oh." Damn, Will's very-small-voice. Wide eyes. "Oh. Right. Hey... that was back then and you were making all with bad girl image and the evil and stuff. And I hadn't done that yet, you know?" Willow shook her head, "I understand a little better now. I skinned a man alive, tried to end the world, and almost killed all of my friends, too." Willow didn't grin, and a good thing, or Faith might have killed her for it. Instead, she just shook her head and turned her eyes away and said softly, "We're not different in that. I know what it's like to get that darkness way down deep in your soul now, and to have to fight it every second. I can't make it 'ok'," she said, "But I can do something to try and make up for it?"_

_"Yeah." Faith just looked at her, and then did one of the hardest things she'd ever done - reached over and put her hand on the other woman's arm and let go of all of the times she'd watched the insecure younger Willow do her best to push out the threat she saw Faith as being back then. Not to their lives - the threat to what she had with Buffy and Xander... "S'allright, Wills. I know." She reached up and put her fingers on the chin of the 'most powerful witch in the world' and pulled her face around to look Willow in the eyes, "Doan' know if it's ok. What I know is that it's done and did. Let's go on from now, hey?"_

_She waited until Willow nodded, then let go and looked down at the pile of steel and leather, "So. Explain this mojo again. Use small words for the short bus students this time, huh?" Willow laughed, shaking her head, and they moved on..._

_"It's a cool place and they say it gets colder  
You're bundled up now but wait 'til you get older  
But the media men beg to differ  
Judging by the hole in the satellite picture"_

_And all it took was a major apocalypse or two. Go figger._

* * *

A pair of wooden knives go into the sheaths set in on the outside of the calves of the chaps. No stakes, these, knives: handmade from African blackwood and special. There's four of them: two for the coat in addition to this pair...

_

* * *

Some sort of New York African Pride Day or something. Maybe African Heritage Day... whatever. Faith wandered through the streets and areas devoted to the cultural fair just browsing various displays and vendor stalls, just killing time. She didn't feel out of place even if she was one of the very few pale faces in the throngs crowding the fair. She didn't notice and wouldn't have given a shit if she had - the occasional hostile glance directed at her bounced right off._

_"We were supposed to go to this thing together when I got back, dammit," she muttered to herself. "Instead, Robin decided he just had to take off for London for a Council meeting. Crap."_

_A display caught her eye from across the street and she wandered over for a closer look. Weapons, cool. Wooden weapons, and not touristy crap like those ebony 'lion spears' that other guy had been selling. Wicked, even. There was an ancient, slightly built man with a grizzled white beard behind the counter. He looked her over curiously just as she was giving him the once over. A surprisingly youthful grin split the white beard and he said, "Habari, Warrior."_

_"Habari?" Faith raised a eyebrow._

_"Greetings," the old man nodded._

_"Ah." Faith stuck her hands in her pockets and smiled, looking over the weapons display. "Habari, old man." A row of demonic looking ebony figures on a shelf along the back stall caught her eye and she shivered slightly. Bulging eyes, tusks, froglike things, and things with too many legs... all of them carved from ebony, and all of them so lifelike it looked as if any moment they could get up and walk, crawl, or slither away. "Wicked," she breathed._

_The old man's gaze followed hers and that grin split his beard again. "You like?"_

_"No. But man - that's nice work." Faith grinned back at him, "Grotesque, but sweet, you know?"_

_"Shetani," he said. "No one carves the Shetani like the Makonde__," he added, and there was obvious satisfaction in his words. Deserved satisfaction, Faith thought, nodding._

_"Makonde__, that'd be you?"_

_He nodded, "My people. We carve."_

_"I'll say," Faith went back to looking over the blades. The Shetani sculptures were sweet, but with one of those in her room, slayer or no, she'd never be able to sleep again. There was such a thing as too lifelike, y'know?_

_"You don't want any of those, Warrior." The old man shook his head, and drew an ebony box from under the counter and set it in a clear space. "Those are made for sale to to the appreciative. These are made for use... " He opened the box and Faith's breath caught in her throat, driving away the 'Look ok to me,' she'd begun._

_"wow." She put out her hand slowly, and stopped suddenly with it hovering just over one of the four dark wooden blades, two long, two short, looking up at the old man. He nodded and made a permissive gesture._

_"Ji hadri. Do not touch the blades. They cut."_

_Faith nodded and carefully lifted one of the knives out of its recess in the box. Heavier than it looked. She held it up to the light, running an appreciative eye along the blade, and then frowned. A very faint rippling clung to the edge of the blade, and she couldn't see where the edge ended and the air began. It looked like the shimmer of heat distortion one sees over the road on a hot day. No feel of magic to it, but she knew instinctively there had to be more than mere craftsmanship there. She gave the old man a wondering look._

_"Blackwood," he said, "plus skill. They are blackwood plus all of the weapons that have ever been and never shall be. Blackwood plus history. Blackwood, plus all of that, plus all of the skills of the Makonde__. Weapons of worth. They cut very well."_

_"How much?" Faith asked, but she was already laying the knife back into its recess, shaking her head. No matter that she had a nice bank account now, and income, there was no way she could afford whatever he wanted for those. And no way she could offer him less than they were worth..._

_"They are not for sale," the old man said. Faith nodded, biting her lip. Nothing else on the table held any interest for her any longer, not after seeing those. The old man closed the lid over the knives and the matching sheaths, and she began to turn it away. He picked up the box and handed it to her, and she gave him a shocked look._

_"They are weapons made for a Warrior. Use them." Ancient eyes bore into hers, "They will take care of you as long as you care for them."_

_She almost cried, later, for the first time since she'd broken down on Angel, when her hand had been ripped off of one of those blades just after she'd stuck it through the heart of a vampire. She'd turned on the vampire that had grabbed her from behind in a fury, all thought and all skill lost in rage and beat him to a mushy pulp with her hands. Knowing that that knife was going to dust along with her previous kill and not being able to stand it. She was growling when she ripped his head off of his body and found herself standing alone in a cloud of dust - the other vamps had taken one look at the berserk slayer and fled. She found the knife lying on the concrete beneath the dust of her first kill, no worse for wear..._

_She never took a chance with them again, though, making certain she drew them back before the dust cloud. Coulda been a fluke, and she wasn't going to take any chances._

* * *

Gunbelt goes on next over the chaps. First time for this one, and she holds the Duke rig in her hands for a long moment, looking at it, before buckling it around the hips. Feels natural in her hands, like a part of herself, and she makes a note to ask Wesley to check and see if there was ever a Slayer called in the old west. Or in Hollywood, maybe... she wasn't quite sure this was exactly authentic, y'know? No makey. It feels right and it looks right, and even with her skills at where they are right now, anything she draws it on in a demon or vampire bar's going to be damned near at muzzle range. Forty-two .45 caliber cartridge loops. Sundog rounds on the left, silver on the right, with the long .45-70 round in the center as a divider like Hannibal had suggested. She does a quick set of gunfighter spins with the big Keith revolver and flips open the loading gate to run it down her arm, checking the loads. Alternating: sundogs and silver, the brass cartridge heads gleaming in the room light. Another fast spin and it drops into the holster like an eager wolf. Down, killer. You'll get blooded tonight, no worries... We gots places to go and things to kill

_

* * *

Hannibal continued: "A firearm is a launching platform, right? All a gun does is load and fire a projectile. Like a crossbow, bow, or rocket launcher. It's the projectile that really does the work. A firearm without ammo isn't even a good club. With me so far?"_

_She smirked. "Five-by-five."_

_Grin. "That's important. Means that as long as you can figure out what you need to do the job, if you can make it fire, you can load whatever the hell you need. Firearm is a launcher, firearms load cartridges, cartridges contain propellant and bullets. Bullets hit target."_

_"Give tarmangani battle yell, party much after." She snickered. He laughed. "Makes perfect sense... but not if you'd never been shown any of it."_

_He nodded. "Ok. So." He brought up a manual page on the computer screen, showed it to her, picked up an example of it off the table and handed it to her. "A mag-safe bullet. Used for shooting things where you don't want the projectile going through them and killing a bystander three blocks away. Jacket, filled with a jell, which is filled with small shot. Goes in, jacket breaks up, shot chews up the innards. Not much penetration." He picked up a thicker plastic cylinder. "Sabot slug. Plastic casing with a shotgun slug in the center. Used for firing small things through a larger bore size." He twisted the cylinder apart and showed her the wasp-waisted slug inside, then gestured around the bench. "Manuals, components, tools, moulds, reloading presses, measures, propellants, lathes, swaging dies, computer with database and ballistics programs: everything you need to make one of these do whatever you want within reason." He picked up a cartridge and waved it._

_She leaned on the counter with an elbow, fascinated. Studied him for a moment, then widened her eyes slightly. "You're a Geek!" she said, accusingly. "Abby's a tech geek, you're a Gun Geek! Cool!" She grinned._

_"Hey! Am not!"_

_"S'cool," she said. "I *like* geeks. Geeks are cool. Geeks make the world work. Wesley's a book Geek. Watchers are Geeks: feed Slayers 'how to seek, find, kill' info. Knowledge is Power. What you don't know Kills. Don't Die." She nodded decisively, "I just never knew there was geek-shit involved with firearms. Or an entire world of geeks and geek lore associated with them. Cool."_

_"Heh. If you only knew." He laughed. "But we won't get in that deep for now. We're interested in how to kill shit." Grinning._

_"Heya, don't stop now. Take me all the way, baby," she smirked..._

_Just gotta love a man who knows his weapon..._

* * *

Sword and knife harness comes after that. She draws the short sword from the scabbard and lays it across a forearm to run a practiced eye along the edges. 25 inches of something that's not quite steel - not any metal that she's ever seen nor that Giles could ever identify. Shiva-ki mark just ahead of the guard, but if Shiva-ki made this one, it was done in whatever dimension the demon she took it off of had visited before he suddenly found himself with no earthly use for a sword or anything else. Black metal, black as enamel, and layered with some silvery alloy. Stainless looking engraved guard and pommel, but not any sort of stainless from this world. No need for enchantments on this one either: Already magicked up before she ever took it from the dead grasp of the Van Tals demon that'd been trying to gut Vi with it. All Giles had been able to find on it was a name in some demonic language she wasn't even going to hurt her throat trying to pronounce, but that translated loosely to 'Soul of Darkness'. Rockin' - Dark Sword for the Dark Slayer. Suits. Slide it into the scabbard and snap the keeper over it. Goes on like a shoulder harness, grips and pommel down, point up, diagonal acrost the back so that the grip falls naturally to the right hand when you reach back under the coat...

_

* * *

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And that's a stupid thing to have running through your head when you're about to die. Stupid brain. Backed up against the cold stone wall with a corner on one side and no way to dodge in time as the demon brought the wicked looking sword across, up and in. Vi kept her eyes open in spite of the urge to close and turn them away. If she was going to die, she'd do it looking into the eyes of her killer._

_And then the sword was gone and so was the demon, flying across to hit the wall twenty feet away with a crunch, and Faith was between them, somehow, snarling and narrow eyed. The last time she'd seen the Dark Slayer, Faith had been twenty feet away locked in combat with another Van Tals... Faith shook her head and brought that gleaming double headed axe of hers up, that rapt lover's smile spreading slowly across her lips. "Wanna dance? Try me... "_

_It tried. It died. So very sad. Not._

* * *

The big Moeller made bowie goes on the left side of the shoulder rig for a right hand draw, all folded mojo'd steel, ivory grips, and the heavy knuckle duster style guard. 12" of sudden death in the fist, damned near more short sword than knife. The Hibben Jackal pattern knife the Mayor'd given her way back when is next, right side of the rig and set up for a left hand draw. Looks like.... but Gil Hibben never made that blade. She pauses, holding it for a time but not looking at it, looking inside at memories that she can't let go of and that won't let go of her. There's a lot of memories between that knife and her, and not all of them physical... Sigh and put it away and snap the keeper over it. Not just a tool, never just a tool, but no time to be standing here communing with old friends, even steel ones. So what if there was a lot of history in that thing, and not all of it good? Girl likes a sharp knife, y'know? Wanna make something of it?

_

* * *

There'd been a half a dozen times in that fight that she could have killed the blonde slayer. Not that B'd ever believe it with her all 'I'm better than you, Faith' crap, but hey - real's real, and one thing Faith knew about was fighting. Like Diana had said, she was a natural. Ok, not good chances, because hey - B's pretty damned good herself, but chances, and all it takes is one that you take advantage of. Or one that you don't... See, that's the thing, the thing they never understood. She didn't want to kill B, not ever. Even made Wilkins promise that no matter what, he wouldn't do it or have it done. Not that he'd liked it, but he'd did it. Or not done it. For her. She didn't want to see Buffy dead, by her own hand or anyone else's. What she had wanted was... was... never mind. Don't go there. It's all blood under the bridges now, and it don't matter none._

_And then all the chances were gone, and B'd stuck her own knife in her gut, those green eyes wide and shocked and then suddenly going all narrow and cold and all of the pretenses of Buffy being 'better an' all' just dust in the wind 'cause B was a killer too. Slayers are human too, Buffy, like it or not, just like Alan Finch. But I'll bet the Council doesn't send an execution team to drag you back to jolly old England to stand trial for killin' me, wot?_

_"Damn, B - you did it," came out, weak but still smiling. "You killed me." She threw Buffy away from her, surprised she still had the strength, and climbed onto the low roof parapet. "Still won't help your boy any, though. Shoulda been there, B - quite a ride." No way. You're not getting my blood, B. Gonna have to deal with bein' a killer and knowing it was for nuthin' but nuthin'. Knowin' you're just like me inside._

_Just one last thing to hit with, see the shock in Buffy's face before Faith died, 'cause she was gonna die, no doubt - that was no natural knife. Saw the shock in those green eyes and felt that half-grin slide across her lips as she threw herself back and down into the bed of the passing truck below. Sucker. I don't fuck corpses, Buff. That's your thing. But now you'll never know... free falling and then she hit and the darkness took her..._

_Woulda been nice if B'd figured it out. Ain't that the sum total of fuck all. Top o' the fucking world, ma._

* * *

Bracers on the forearms, with the spring-snap 8" ironwood inlaid blades. She flexes her wrists just so, checking, and watches as the blades pop out and then back in. Silvered steel: good for all sorts of baddies...

_

* * *

There was a reason that vampire groupies called it 'The Kiss', she knew. She'd felt it before. She knew that she had only seconds, if that, before the ecstasy of the draining sucked her in and drove all thought of resistance from her mind, losing herself in the pleasure... And this time, she didn't have veins full of Orpheus and a deliberate plan to poison the bitch as they had Angelus. When she woke up from this embrace, she'd be a vampire's childer, if she woke up at all._

_"**No!**" Faith wasn't sure if she screamed that out loud or only in her mind. It didn't matter. There was an advantage to wearing enough steel that you glitter when you walk, even if she was lightly armed compared to the way she normally went about._

_She flexed her right wrist, the free one, and eight inches of silvered steel, inlaid with ironwood snapped out of her forearm bracer. She'd paid a custom maker a lot of money for that set of blades - worth every penny of it if this saved her life. Faith brought her right hand up and over her shoulder and the blonde vampiress' arm, driving the blade deep into her face and eye as she jackknifed forward at the hips. There was an inhuman shriek from behind her and the teeth ripped out of her neck tearing flesh and skin away with them._

_"Not gonna happen," came out from between her clenched teeth as she turned and drove the wrist blade into blondie's chest just under the 'V' of the breastbone and up into the diaphragm. Faith spat blood into the blonde's face as she raised her arm, lifting the still impaled vampire up on the end of her fist, and turned and threw her the rest of the way down the parking aisle to crash onto the window and hood of a car parked at the end of the lot. She bent over slightly, holding her injured arm and gasping for breath as she watched the blonde slowly gather herself together..._

_I don't fuck corpses and ain't gots no longing for 'The Kiss'. In your eye, bitch. Suck on that._

* * *

There's an art to concealing almost sixteen pounds of cold steel and wood inside a coat, even a long one. She hasn't quite mastered it yet, always refining the process... but she's getting there. Throwing spikes go in here. Silvered steel, cold iron, and silvered-steel with ironwood shafts, all of them into various slots designed into the long coat. Eight inches of spike and five inches of knurled and checkered grip, perfectly balanced. Nothing special about these except for the anti-decay spell that Willow had worked up as a variant of some preservation spell she'd discovered and wanted to try out. She'd tuned out about two minutes into the excited babbling explanation, keeping nothing from it except that the 'anti-decay' meant that they didn't dust when you stuck one in the heart of a vampire from thirty feet away. Cool - meant one hell of a lot less expense in constantly replacing custom made throwing spikes.

_

* * *

Her and Robin are moving furniture around in the basement of good ole SunnyD High. Blocking vents and exits and stuff, just in case the Turok-Han get past them, so they won't have as easy a way gettin' out. Robin's thinking they will get past. Faith scoffs at the idea out loud - but down in her gut, she agrees with him. No point in saying it though. Even back then she knows that you create your own realities - admitting they might lose might not be a jinx, but hey, why chance it when it's just as easy to believe you'll win?_

_Somehow the discussion turns to their short hot encounter session and the stuff around it - *not* somethin' she wants to discuss with a guy after. Get some, get gone. Grab 'N roll. Usual crap, banter an' all, saying how it was good an' all but she really didn't rock his world. She's ready to go for round two right then - wanna be rocked, baby? *snicker* Not like that 'I'm prettier than you' crap is gonna fly._

_And then things take a turn she hadn't expected: he turns her down. And right after, says real serious like that if she'll give him a chance when all this is done, he'll show her that not all guys are like she claims. He'll surprise her._

_He did that thing, all right. Not. Surprise, babe: you're just another smooth talkin' piece of male-tail._

_Well fuck me. Din't see that one coming, no way. Huh._

* * *

Holy water dispensers go into small slots inside of the lapels. Squirt pens, not vials - vials break too easily. She'd found these at a novelty shop in New York, and immediately latched onto a half a dozen of them and stuck them on her card. Didn't hold much, natch - but they made for a nasty surprise for a normal vamp. Getting juiced in the eyes or mouth with a jet of HW unexpectedly kinda took the bite out of one in a hurry. Loops for the other two stakes inside. UV-grenades in the pockets.

_

* * *

Down in the tunnels where the deadly are rising. The dead, anyway. Turok-fucking-han everwhere. Beat, rend, kill. Turn, duck, kick. Slash and cut, and dust in the wind. She's 115% alive, moving in living Technicolor, and so what if it might not last past the next second? Way it's meant to be, baby. Live fast, die hard, and go out kicking and screaming and sending one hell of a lot of the bastards to hell ahead of you. Slayer._

_And then 'the way it's meant to be' **changes**... Willow's mojo goes off and there's a wave of pure fucking power that shoots through everything and everyone and like thunder in the distance, she can hear B's voice in her head rolling out just as it had in the living room earlier..._

_"So here's the part where you make a choice: what if you could have that Power, now? In every generation, one Slayer is born... because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that Rule. They were powerful men. This woman (B points at Wills) is more powerful than all of them combined. So I say we change the Rule. I say that my Power, should be our Power." *pause* "Tomorrow, Willow will use the essence of the Scythe to change our destiny. From now on, every girl in the world who might be a Slayer... will be a Slayer. Every girl who could have the Power... will have the Power. Every girl who can stand up... will stand up. Slayers... every one of us. Make your choice. Are you ready to be Strong?"_

_She feels the Power flow through her, cutting like a clean blast of arctic wind and shivers as that power ripples up and down her spine like a snake and flows out into the Potentials, making them Slayers one and all - and then flows outward from there..._

_Can she really be the only one who had that tiny voice in the back of her mind wondering 'What about the ones out there who weren't just given a choice?' Only one who wondered if they weren't demonraping hundreds, maybe thousands of girls at once, rather than one at a tme?_

_And then B goes down, stabbed from behind, and passes her off the Scythe sayin' "Hold the line" and Faith takes it and whirls back to doing what she does best, a sudden thunderclap of violence. Dancin' in the dark. Dancing at the Dark. Slayer._

_The Thing the Darkness Fears. And what do you know about rights and wrongs, anyway, Killer? Sum total of fuck all, hey? Faith throws herself in, giving over completely to the killing frenzy..._

* * *

The other two blackwood knives go into the sleeve sheaths. Angel had always had those stake rigs in his coat where they drop down into the hands... but she'd never cared for them. These were just simple sheaths, over the forearm and under, and you draw with a simple cross pass of the hands and voila - armed and ready to stake. No fuss, no muss, and no mechanicals to break.

_

* * *

Her arms moved and silver and wood spikes stood out from their hearts, briefly, then they both dusted and the loudest sound in the place was the clatter of the wood and steel hitting the floor. A slow smile slid across her lips, unnoticed. She'd never even looked at the minions gliding up on her; her eyes never leaving the master vamp - slayer instinct and feel guiding the throw._

_"What the fuck are you, anyway?" he breathed, staring back as the rest of the minions froze around her._

_"I am the terror that flaps in the night," she replies, casually. He stared at her, boggling, and she laughed. "The Thing the Darkness Fears. Slayer." She cocked her head, smiling. "Bored now. Ready to dance?"_

_The sword and the wicked Hibben style knife came out from under the coat as they closed in, and she blurred into movement and dust fell around her..._

_Dancing in the dark, baby. Bite me. If you can._

* * *

The other sword went into the scabbard snapped to the inside of the back of the coat, grip protruding above her left shoulder for an easy left-hand draw. "Faithkeeper", Wesley had called it when he looked it up in his books, finally finding a match for it. Suits. Twenty inches of wicked sharp steel with a leather and silver wire wrapped grip. Yet another blade that came out of the hand of something that didn't need it any longer.

_

* * *

"Suits," she laughed. "What's it do?"_

_"That, I am afraid the references don't tell us," Wesley remarked. He turned the book so that she could see it. No text, only a drawing showing the blade with an inset showing it in the hand of a demon very like the one she'd taken it from. "Only the name and a visual depiction."_

_"Oh well," she tossed her head, grinning. "Since it's named after me, makes it spoils of war, huh?"_

_The last time he'd mentioned the bit of 'hot, blunt, sharp, and loud' was when they went after Angelus. He never mentioned it again until after the Pit, and that was when he made sure she knew he forgave her... but it was always in the back of her eyes when she saw him, and she never forgot it. And she never could figure out how to say "I'm sorry" so that it came out right..._

_"Somebody once asked, 'could you spare some change for gas  
I need to get myself away from this place'  
I said 'yep, what a concept  
I could use a little fuel myself  
And we could all use a little change'. "_

_Maybe finding the right way isn't needed. Just finding a way. Huh. Never thought about it like that... _

* * *

Everything sorted and carefully stowed in place, she swirled the coat around and shrugged into it, settling it into place. No MP3 player - she never could figure out how Abby could wear that thing into combat. Her, now... she wanted all of her senses unimpeded when she fights. Nothin' in the way of hearing. She slipped the chain and the small cross around her neck, and put in the cross earrings. Helmet? Naw - we doan need no stinking helmets. 'Bout to get up close and personal with death in the economy sized package: kinda makes worrying about a bike spill redundant. Hat, not helmet to top everything off. Flat brimmed, leather Aussie hat. Or at least it started out flat brimmed... now it's nicely rolled and properly creased. Row of small silver conchos around the band, and a leather thong to hang behind the back on when she's on the bike and moving.

_

* * *

She wasn't sure just what the hell that thing was, and there wasn't anyone to ask. Big, nasty, sinuous - and all coiling scales and teeth like a wingless dragon on speed was all she could tell. That... and it was going to have those two idiot kids for a snack if she didn't do something about it..._

_And that just wasn't going to happen. You don't leave people to be food for things, not any more. She gunned the big BMW and ran it straight in, around the two teenagers, and under the thing as it reared up in preparation for coming down with open maw on top of them. The battle axe sliced a bloody gash across its chest and its blood smoked where it fell. There was an unearthly scream behind her as she wheeled the bike around again and charged back..._

_Axe wasn't doing much except pissing it off. The next pass took her off the road and as she wheeled around again, the long neck lay stretched out along the road where it'd evidently dazed itself smacking into the asphalt behind her. She grinned, gunned the engine, popped the clutch and stood on the pegs as she came up over the slight hump where the shoulder met the road, the big 1200 lifting off and weightless for just a moment as it roared over the edge, airborne._

_There was a horrid crunching noise as her full weight and the mass of the bike with all her gear came down hard on top of that long jawed skull, and then there were death throes and frenzied coilings in the road. Death on a steel horse, yup. Yipee ki yay, motherfucker. Take that._

_Here there be dragons, baby. And dragon slayers. Out here where nothing really rocks, and nothing really rolls - and nothing's ever worth the cost._

* * *

Fuck that noise. _Always_ worth the cost. It's all about the _costs_, babe. She pulled the long, long tooth out of her pocket and rubbed it between her fingers before putting it away again. They stand in the way and fight and die so normals don't have to. The Pit taught her that and showed her the _why_.

She slid the sunglasses into place, and paused at the full length mirror for a glance over. Yup. Ice cold, deadly as sin, and smokin' hot. Tight, taut, coiled and wired - nerve endings way out past the end of her skin. Bigger than life, twice as mean, and done up in living fucking Technicolor and basic black. She grinned. Faith, _Slayer_. Not _all_ that she is... but it'll damned well do. Fuck you, Beast. Been off the game too long here, but the game is _back_ now. Time to get ahead of the curve and stay there.

One foot in the past, and one in the future, all you can do with the present is piss on it. Time to live in the now for awhile.

Old wreckage yard outside, cluttered with scrap cars and piles of junk and deceptively ramshackle concrete and tin buildings. Tempting to ask the B-man if they owned salvage yards and warehouse property in every city in the US - but what's the point, hey? Probably come back with a microscopic eyebrow lift and one of those ghost smiles and say, "Of course."

Blade and King were leaning up against the side of Blade's car when she came out, armed to the teeth and kinda smokin' hot themselves. She grinned at them and mimed tipping the hat brim. Who the fuck needs Scoobies when you have War and Rage at your right and left hand, and Stalking Death trailing behind you like an old friend, hey?

King looked her up and down and gave her a low wolf whistle. She tossed him a wink behind the shades, stuck a slim cigar stub in the corner of her mouth and lit it.

"Ready for it?" Blade gave one of those microscopic eyebrow raises that encompassed 'back up to speed?' and 'you look _fine_, girl' all in one expression.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, drawing her aspect around her like a cloak. Green flames crackled around her hands and the Valdris blades came into her fists, power, capital-P rippling up and down her spine. She sent it out into the night and darkness, a wave of pure predator, and things in the shadows froze suddenly. Ripples came back to her like pebbles in a stream, an infinite variety of 'what the fuck?' and 'unholy fuck!' as the things that stalked the night suddenly made themselves very small and very still. A wolf grin flickered across her face and the blades went away as quickly as they came. She threw back her head and laughed at the 'big bads' out there that suddenly got all small when something bigger and badder reared up on its hind legs and snarled...

"Back in black and five by five, babe," Faith said, nodding.

She threw a leg across the bike, took it off the stands, hit the starter and kicked it to life, feeling the rumble between her legs and up her spine. She tipped the hat with a finger to hang on the cord down her back and slipped the double headed axe into its holder under her knee. "What say we go rattle some cages, huh?"

**.................................................................................**

_"Hey now you're an All Star get your game on, go play  
Hey now you're a Rock Star get the show on, get paid  
(And all that glitters is gold)  
Only shooting stars break the mold... "_

****************************************************************

_- Lyrics from "All Star" by Smashmouth_

_- Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode dialogue quotes from "Homecoming", "The Zeppo", "Graduation Day", and "Chosen"._


	21. Chapter 21: 'Cause there ain't no heroes

**Chapter 21: **_**"'Cause there ain't no heroes... "**_

"I don't like this."

"Yeah, we gathered that, Colby," Frank Giambione shot the big black detective an exasperated look. "Five repetitions ago."

"Yeah?" Colby Burns crossed his arms and glared at O'Brien's partner and second in command. "Maybe you need five more, baby, so it sinks in." Sitting next to his partner, Detective Carson gave a snort that had not the slightest shred of disagreement in it.

Lieutenant Hogan and O'Brien exchanged looks, shaking their heads slightly. Time to either head this off or defuse it before Burns set off Frank's volatile temper and things ignited to blows. Nikki was already not thrilled with Major Cases taking over the private room at Rimbault's during prime business hours. She'd really be pissed if Frank and the burly black detective trashed it.

Would be an interesting fight though... Hogan hid a small grin. Not the time for that.

O'Brien smirked, knowing exactly what was running through his old partner and best friend's head. He caught Colby's eye and locked it, "What's the problem, Colby?"

"The problem is you and Giambione here placing all of Major Cases' resources at the disposal of a nineteen year old ex-con who's got both of you convinced that she's a cross between Supergirl and Van Helsing," Burns stated, flat. He gestured at the table they were sitting around and the assortment of firearms and vests clumped in the middle, including the confiscated - and not reported - Hk MP5's from the blood factory. "She got you going out farther over the edge than you two ever have before, and you and Jambone here have gone pretty damned far in the past sometimes."

Carson nodded, "And we stand a pretty good chance of having it drag all of Major Crimes division down with us if it blows up in your face, Obie."

O'Brien looked at both of them evenly for a moment, then at the rest of the squad. Christine was being uncharacteristically quiet, even for her. Stevie was frowning, looking between O'Brien and the other two detectives. Giambione was looking daggers at Burns, still. Good thing they'd gathered up a few hours early to hash things out - all they really needed right now was for LeHane and her people to stroll in about now to drop a match in.

No. All they _really_ needed was Tom Kirkwood making acerbic remarks to set the whole thing off. Thank gods O'Brien had been able to convince the reporter that he was better off hearing about the next few days business privately over a tall bottle of Irish Whiskey than watching it up close and personal...

Kevin O'Brien nodded, and reached onto the table and picked up one of the MP5 clips, thumbing one of the cartridges out and flipping it to the big detective. Colby caught it, frowning and turning it over between his fingers.

"A nineteen year old ex-con who happens to know more about the kind of things we've been encountering here than we've discovered in the past five to ten years, Colby," he said. "Or have you forgotten watching a moving corpse with no pulse bursting into flaming ash a few days ago?" O'Brien gave him a long look. "Consider it bringing in a team of outside experts. Not like that's something we haven't done before on cases."

"Not like this, O'Brien," Detective Carson put in smoothly, before his partner could respond. "This isn't just an 'outside consultant' for you. You and Frank have gotten personally involved here." Burns nodded.

"He's right, Obie," Hogan cut in softly. "It's kinda hard to miss that you're not treating LeHane as just a resource." O'Brien gave him an 'Eh tu?' look that he ignored. "I suspect that's got Burns and Carson here a bit concerned that your judgment's being affected."

"Got that right," Burns made a snorting sound. He held up a hand, palm out in a placating gesture. "Stand easy, Obie. If it was _just_ that, I wouldn't be sitting here driving Frank's blood pressure up." He gave Giambione an amused look, "Ok, so I would. But not quite as bad. We all get personally involved at times - goes with The Job." He gave O'Brien a hard look, and took the one the older detective sent back without flinching. "You seen the kind of heat that's come down from upstairs on that warehouse, man? And that restaurant fight slash murder scene? In twenty five years in Major Crimes, I've _never_ seen the brass so determined to pave something over and pretend it doesn't exist."

"And we've handled a lot of things that don't exist," Carson nodded. "I get the feeling we're in way over our heads here, and if we're not careful, we're going to get paved over as well."

"I found an unmarked parked up the street from my building when I went home yesterday," Stevie remarked unexpectedly. "They drove off when I continued on and drove past them to check them out." Hogan looked at her sharply.

"Me too." Giambione said, nodding.

"Yours drive off also, Frank?" Hogan turned the sharp, concerned look on him.

"Not quite," Frank shook his head, grinning. "Mine drove off when I walked up and tapped on the passenger window with my revolver and asked for some ID." He shrugged, "Guess they didn't see me come up."

"Damned cowboy," O'Brien muttered. Giambione gave him an unrepentant look.

"See what I mean? If we take LeHane's evaluation of that warehouse scene at face value, then we know that the.. people... involved with that blood factory scene have their own people in the police department and political circles," Carson stated. "We're seven clean cops that we know we can be sure of. We can't fight the entire Philly PD, the Mayor's Office, City Hall, and for all we know, the media just by ourselves."

"Yeah. We know for a fact that the Eagle and the Gazette both sideline reporters that look to close at certain stories," Burns added. "It be why Tommy has a middle section low profile column after all his years and still lives in a crap South Philly apartment." He considered for a moment, "And if even a breath gets back to Internal Affairs on all the evidence from this and the Winchester assault that didn't go into the Evidence Room and they start looking hard at the past ten years, they'll hang us after they pave us over."

"Naw." Frank shook his head, "Whoever's pulling strings up top doesn't want any of this investigated. They'll just have us shot and disappeared."

"Oh. Yeah. That I can deal with," Burns smirked at him. "At least my pension'll be secure." He gave O'Brien a hard look again, "Like I said, man. When I thought you just using the girl to get the Job done, I didn't like it, but I understood it. Sucks, but we all big boys and girls and that's the way the world works. You like the girl and you see something worthwhile there, hey - that's ok too. We all get personally involved and it ain't the first time a cops picked up surrogate family when they don't have one. Sometimes it even works." He shook his head, "But this... this is different. It's not just personal involvement and it's not just Obie being the icy calculating son of a bitch we all love to hate because he gets the Job done. It something else, baby."

"So what are you saying, Colby?" Frank gave him an honestly curious look.

Colby Burns leaned back, giving Giambione a thoughtful look, "Saying that O'Brien's walking us all out on the thin edge on a dream, babe. We in deep, been in deep, and he don't see no way out except for it getting so deep it chews us up and spits us out. You either." Giambione nodded, not arguing the point. "So along comes LeHane, and he's latched on to her as a way out. Not just a surrogate daughter he never had, or a tool... Something special, and she is that - anyone can see it. But this thing is big, and nasty, and she ain't that special. She almost died going up against our blonde freak; would've died if it weren't for you and Obie. It's going to chew her up, man... and when it does, it's going to chew all of us up with her. 'Cause there ain't no heroes and this isn't some action movie where the lone gun comes in and cleans up the town and everyone walks away."

"LeHane isn't a hero, Colby," O'Brien said, softly.

"Right. What I just said, hey?" Burns nodded. "She just a girl who can throw a hundred and forty pound woman fifteen feet and leave an impact crater in the side of a car. But she isn't bulletproof."

O'Brien nodded. "So what, Colby, Fred? You think we should just send LeHane and the Winchesters on their way and let it go?" O'Brien shook his head. "We do that, and we may as well find jobs out in some Sheriff's department out in Montana and relax as best we can. Flush this city the rest of the way down the toilet, because we're going to be giving it over to the type of things that run that blood milking operation." His voice went soft, "And to the bent cops and politicians that let it go on."

Burns and Carson looked away, neither of them liking the idea with it stated flat out like that.

O'Brien made a helpless gesture, "If you two want out, and Stevie... head back to the squad room and bury yourself in regular cases. No harm, no foul. Frank and I'll follow up on all this and take the heat for it."

"No." Christine's low voice grabbed everyone's attention. She gave O'Brien, and then Hogan direct looks. "We don't ignore this and go on our way. Not knowing that somewhere out there homeless people and runaways are being taken off the streets, having their brains deadened, and wrapped in plastic to be milked like cattle." Stevie Brody nodded. Somewhere along the line in all of the argument, it had gotten lost that the ID on the people taken out of that warehouse all came back as homeless, runaways, missing persons, and derelicts and street kids. People that no one cares about, even without the other angles, because it's inconvenient for the politicians pretending to run the show to acknowledge they exist. Good that Chris had brought it back in.

"I agree with Chris," she said. "Having someone watching my place and knowing they probably have a tattoo like those dead cops at that warehouse pisses me off more than it scares me."

"You know that following through means we going to end up at war with probably half the PD and political establishment?" Colby gave her a long look. "No way that operation went down without someone high up greasing the wheels for it, baby."

"Way I see it, we're already at war. We just didn't have a face to put on the enemy before," Brody grinned at him. "Baby." Burns snorted.

"Or anyone who knew what they were and how to deal with them," Giambione added. "Even if she is a juvenile ex-con biker superhero babe."

"So, what's it going to be, Colby? Carson?" O'Brien crossed his arms and leaned back, watching. "Believe me: none of us are going to think less of you two if you walk. If I wasn't already committed, I'd give it some serious thought."

"Walk hell," Giambione snorted. "I'd run like a motherfucker." He grinned, "Assuming I could figure out a place to run to where there's no possibility of things that go bump."

"Is that," Colby snorted, turning that odd 10mm round over and over between his fingertips. "What the fuck, baby. You only get dead once. I'm in." His mind went back to that warehouse, "Ok, maybe you get dead twice in this one."

"You're _not_ committed is the problem, Kevin. You _should_ be. And you - _you're_ insane, too," Carson stated, looking at his partner. "What the hell. I always wanted to die horribly and in great pain, just the six of us."

"Seven," Hogan said in a cold voice. Carson nodded, acknowledging the correction.

"Not just the six of you," said a low voice from the entrance to the back room. "I brought friends."

**...**

O'Brien wondered for a minute if he hadn't horribly miscalculated somewhere along the line. The small woman standing in the doorway of Nikki's secondary banquet room bore just about as much resemblance to the Faith LeHane he'd carefully gotten to know over the past week as a lioness does to a house cat. The banquet room was pretty good sized, large enough to hold a party of twenty people when needed. Plenty big enough for for all of Major Cases, plus Tom Kirkwood and Hogan to relax in with room to spare. There should have been enough room for LeHane and the five men standing beside and behind her to flow in without crowding.

There suddenly wasn't. LeHane alone filled the place up just standing relaxed inside the doorway, head slightly cocked and thumbs tucked casually behind the big gunbelt.

This wasn't the cool and slightly antagonistic young woman that he and Frank had interviewed in the hallway outside of ICU the night the Winchesters were attacked.

This wasn't the girl who'd burst into tears over a birthday cake and then sat talking uncomfortably with him afterwards.

This wasn't the cocky, laughing eyed, and vulnerable young woman who'd joked with him over dinner and later in her hospital room while she was recovering.

It wasn't even the savage combat machine she'd turned into briefly in the restaurant parking lot for several minutes when the blonde came after them, or the cool, remote professional who'd swallowed hard and then gone over that warehouse like a veteran cop...

This was something different. This was the predator that he and Frank had glimpsed briefly the first time, and that he'd seen again in the hospital's physical therapy wing casually hoisting an entire rack of weights one handed. Something lazy and ancient and deadly wearing LeHane's body the way she was wearing those leathers like a second skin. Powerful, bonelessly relaxed, remote, and amused; with a presence that made the room and damned near everyone else in it feel suddenly smaller.

Then she casually pulled off the shades, hung them from the front of her top, and met his eyes with a pair of laughing dark ones and winked. Letting him know that he was wrong - the predator wasn't wearing her, she was wearing it, and all of the things he'd seen before were still in there. This was just a different aspect come to the surface to play. To hunt.

O'Brien nodded and winked back, carefully, and turned his attention to the others with her.

The big black guy drew the eye the same way LeHane did. A blind man could tell he was cut from the same bolt of cloth - pure predator, the male version of LeHane. Just standing there he radiated 'Dangerous, don't fuck with' in a way that would have any sane cop approaching him very carefully and calling for backup first. Backup with a SWAT team. O'Brien could feel the hackles going up on every cop in the room, including his, and the hell of the thing was it was no more of a conscious effort on the black guy's part than it was on LeHane's. Just a natural extension of the man's self.

The other man on LeHane's right was the same. Only slightly taller than LeHane, but he radiated both 'dangerous' and a sort of a vibrating hyperactive energy that made you want to nail both of his feet to the floor and then slap him just to make him hold still. White, with a short beard, wiry hair and intense eyes, he was wearing a reinforced looking body suit with a name tag over the left that had 'Fuck You' and a smiley face scrawled on it and more hardware than someone his size should have been able to carry. The cocky, arrogant smirk made you want to haul off and shoot him, just on general principles. He set down a huge leather dufflebag by his feet with a clinking sound and crossed his arms over his chest, giving the cops a bemused look that practically screamed that he had thirty smartass remarks inside he was biting back.

The black, shaved headed lawyer, Gunn, should have looked ridiculous wearing an an Italian made light gray three piece suit with a hand-and-a-half broadsword slung casually over one shoulder... only there wasn't anything ridiculous about the aura radiating off of him or the ancient look at the back of his eyes. Killer eyes, the same as the ones on the bearded man, and eyes that had somehow seen far too much in the way of horrors in too short a time. Eyes just like LeHane's...

The fourth, the brown skinned man that had visited LeHane at the hospital, spelled out 'mob boss in an expensive suit' with everything from the amused look he turned on the seven detectives to the H&K submachinegun and the short barreled pump action shotgun slung over his shoulders. A different kind of dangerous there... but not much less than what radiated off of LeHane or the big black man. Only different. Someone used to owning the ground he walked on and breaking people stupid enough to dispute the fact.

Just standing there, the body language of all of them screamed one thing: 'You want to fuck with our girl here, you go through us. And you're not up to that, so just chill, right?' The body language didn't imply lover in any of them. Family - they might as well have had 'adopted big brother' tattooed on their foreheads. None of them treated LeHane as being 'in charge', nor did her body language claim it. Hers stated she was a wolf among equals. Pack. She just happened to be taking point at the moment.

Dean Winchester was the only one O'Brien figured everyone in Major Cases recognized aside from Charles Gunn. Looking at him, O'Brien frowned inwardly. Winchester was standing just about as far away from LeHane as it was possible to get and not be obvious about it. O'Brien wondered what got a bug up his ass. He doubted that Winchester was intimidated by the crowd he was running with, albeit he couldn't blame the kid if he was. He just didn't seem the type. It seemed more to be LeHane he was uncomfortable with... Whatever. O'Brien shook his head. As long as Winchester didn't it it get in the way of business, he was LeHane's problem. He contented himself with taking a position leaning against a wall to one side and watching his squad's reactions to the newcomers.

"Makes it the Deadly Dozen instead of the Fucked Over Seven?" Burns snorted.

"I make it thirteen, yeah. Guess a baker's dozen's appropriate, but your name sounds better," LeHane laughed, agreeing. Her gaze roved over the rest of Major Cases, and settled on Paul Hogan. "You'd be Lieutenant Hogan, then? Heard about you from Five-oh and Frank there."

"Paul Hogan," Hogan was giving her an intensely curious study, sizing her up. He nodded, finally. "Don't think we're going to be going by badges and ranks in this. We just stepped out of the cop zone here."

"Hogan, then," Faith nodded. "Faith LeHane." She smiled, "Not sure I'd toss the shield so fast, Hogan. They're going to know you guys are cops." The smile went a shade colder, "What we're gonna do is make sure they understand you're cops they don't fuck with."

"You the superhero, baby," Colby snorted. "How you plan to make things like that blonde freak take us poor normal types all serious and shit?"

"Burns, right?" LeHane lifted an eyebrow and ambled over to the end of the table and hooked a chair over to turn around so she could stand with one foot up on it and her arm across the knee. She pulled a short heavy crowbar out of the gunbelt with her other hand. "Yeah, babe. I know it's hard when you're having to run with someone who can bend steel," she put one hand at each end of the bar and bent it into a U with no apparent effort, then slid it across the table to rest in front of Colby. "With you bein' all normal like and shit. Guess you'll just have to limp on through it anyway, huh?" O'Brien saw the lawyer, Gunn, give her a sharp look.

Colby glanced down at the bar and snorted. He opened his mouth to say something, and LeHane cut across him smoothly, "After all, I can bend steel and lift the front end of an SUV. I can come out of being unconscious three days after a fractured skull compounded with broken ribs and a punctured lung and walk out of the hospital a few days later, ready to rock. I'm _special_, babe, and don't you forget it." She grinned, "You just can't compete, hey? Why even try."

Colby glared at her and started to raise up in his chair, chest muscles flexing under his shirt. LeHane leaned forward a bit and pinned him with that dark brown gaze... "Sad thing is, I know people like me who even _believe_ that horseshit I just spouted - and they should _know_ better," she said softly.

"Let me tell you about _normal_, Colby Burns," Faith shook her head. "One of the bravest men I've ever known survived most of his life in Sunnydale surrounded by things that could throw you twenty feet like I did blondie. He discovered what the world was like when he was sixteen years old, and then he spent the next seven years fighting against it, every single night, on nothing but heart, guts, and pure nerve. No skills, no super powers, no enhanced healing - nothing. Just nerve and will. And a really big pair of balls. It cost him his best friend, it cost him his girlfriends, it cost him the trust of his friends, and in the end it cost him one of his eyes and damned near his life." The eyes went distant for a moment, "And he gets up every day and does it again. Because someone has to, and he can't turn his back on it now that he knows the score."

"When you can straighten out that crowbar, Detective Burns, you can assume what my attitude on 'normal' is." The corner of Faith's mouth quirked up in a slight grin, "What I said earlier? Few years back that was _just_ my attitude. I learned different. Super strength, speed, toughness and all, that blonde bitch picked me up and threw me into a lamp post and damned near broke me. Like I was a normal. I ain't special, just different." She met Colby's eyes seriously, "We level now?"

"Heart, guts, and nerve, huh?" Burns gave her a long look back, then grinned back at her. "Yeah, we level." He raised an eyebrow, "So, how we plan to make this heart, guts and nerve thing work for us?"

"Consider me an outside consultant, babe. You already got the hard part down: you guys've been surviving here for ten years in a town that's slowly become infested without knowing what you're dealing with. And you're not turned, dead, and you haven't been made into some _thing's_ Familiar or Ghoul. Heart, guts, and nerve... with more'n a bit of luck mixed in because that's what it takes. I'm going to show you what makes the underside of this city tick, and then we're going to figure out what you need to keep it locked down," Faith said. "And try to figure out how to keep you guys alive after I move on. That's another thing I learned along the way: sometimes heart, guts, nerve and sheer will ain't enough. You need an edge." Colby nodded, as did the other people in the room.

Faith took a tire iron out from somewhere under her coat and flipped it easily in her hand, grinning. She caught it as it came down and without warning, threw it at Detective Christine Sullivan, hard, straight, and fast.

Christine put up her hand out of reflex and caught it out of the air, cold. She stared at the tire iron incredulously and then glared at LeHane.

Faith grinned and winked at her. "I'm going to give you that edge that you need."


	22. Chapter 22: Wasting moonlight

**Chapter 22: **_**"Wasting moonlight... "**_

"Bend it."

The tumult of "What the hell?"'s, gasps, and various outraged looks and mutterings had died down after awhile. O'Brien, Hogan, and Giambione didn't join into them - a fact that wasn't completely lost on the rest of Major Cases. Hogan and O'Brien merely exchanged slight nods, and went back to watching Christine and LeHane.

LeHane ignored all of it, just continued giving Christine a steady regard as Detective Meadows glared back at her. "What makes you think I can?" Christine returned the steady gaze with a hostile expression.

"Most of your life you've been having dreams about monsters. You wrote them off as nightmare's, even though those dreams were more real than the waking world around you," Faith stated, softly. "Around six or so months ago, around May, the dreams changed. They became dreams of girls fighting monsters, and endless line of them. Always the same girl, just different bodies and faces, different clothes and skin colors, but the same. Some of the dreams had things chasing you with sewn up eyes and mouths, maybe a Preacher in them." She paused, watching the older woman's face carefully. "Around late May, something happened. You heard a voice like thunder talking about power being shared - or else just a quiet voice in the back of your head asking 'Are you ready to be Strong?' Whatever you were doing, wherever you were at the time, you had what felt like a bolt of pure energy go through you. If you were holding a glass at the time or something breakable - it shattered in your hands. And the cuts were gone in less than a day, like they'd never been. You had learn to adjust so as to not rip off doorknobs by accident, relearn your reflexes. You can see things that normal people can't, hear things that human ears don't. When you push... you can move so fast that you blur - but you've learned not to do that. You can sense when some people are a bit 'off' in ways you can't explain, like you can feel something odd off of Vince, Daywalker, and Nightstalker here now," Faith cocked her head, smiling. "And you can't explain how you solve some of the cases you do because your dreams point you the way - and you don't want to end up on The Psychic Friend's network."

Christine's face went paler with every word, and her hand on the tire tool was shaking slightly. "How do you know this? It's like you've been in my head... "

"Because it happened to me when I was almost fifteen. Different voice, same question. I went... a little bit nuts with it," Faith said, evenly. "You're a lot stronger in here," Faith tapped her chest and head, "than I was, I think."

"You're trying to tell us that Christine is the same as you are and has been since May?" Detective Carson's voice was incredulous. Faith ignored him, keeping her focus on the blonde detective. O'Brien caught Carson's eye and shook his head slightly.

"Why are you doing this like this?" Christine's voice came out strangled.

"You mean, rather than wait and catch you alone at a better time?" Faith lifted her eyebrows. Christine nodded. "You had several days to look me up in the hospital and ask. You had to figure that there was something similar about me. You've had what, months now to let O'Brien and your Lieutenant know that there was something... odd... going on with you?" She shrugged, "Better time's done past, lady. We're all outta time now. We're headin' way out on the edge where there's things in the darkness with teeth, and your partners need you, little bit extra and all." The corner of Faith lips curled up, "Woulda liked to do it better, but sometimes the Universe doesn't seem to give a fuck what I do or don't like. Roll or be rolled over time, and I happen to not wanna see Five-oh over there become a grease spot." She gave O'Brien an amused look, "Gotten kinda attached to him."

"I didn't want anyone else to know about it."

"Afraid they'd consider you a freak? Or worse... leak it somewhere and you'd get hauled off to a lab for study?" Faith's expresson was thoughtful. "Become a media circus and a Jerry Springer phenomenon? Hey! Superhero Cop Discovered in Philly! Top Men Assigned To Head Government Research Team! A Weekly World News Exclusive!!" Dean snorted, and Faith cut him a bemused glance from the corners of her eyes.

"Something like that." Christine glared at her again, "You make it sound like a silly concern, and it isn't."

"No. It's not." Faith studied her. "But do you think O'Brien or Hogan here are going to do that to you? Or your team? Look around you, lady, what do you see?" Faith glanced around the room and her eyes returned back to Christine's. "I make it: concern; several variations of royally pissed off at _me_; little bit of fear _for_ you, not _of_ you; and quite a bit of what the fuck, over?"

Christine took a long look around and saw the same things. LeHane's people's faces were studiously blank, except for the black lawyer's, who looked a bit shocked, and Winchester, who looked slightly pissed himself at LeHane. From her own people though, she received nods and a few rueful looks. And a knowing and sympathetic look from O'Brien, Hogan, and Giambione. "You couldn't know that."

"I couldn't?" Faith gave her a slightly disbelieving look. "You've known these people for more than ten years, right? I've known O'Brien and Frank here for less than ten days and I _know_ better. If they were the kind of men who'd do that, I wouldn't have been sitting in a hospital relaxing under protection the past week - I'd be in a cage. Hogan? O'Brien respects and trusts him, and that's all I need. Five-oh there wouldn't give that kind of respect to someone who _didn't_ rate it. Gimme a break." Faith snorted derisively.

The other woman looked around the room again, giving her squadmates hard and searching looks, and then nodded.

"Can't say I like what happened to you, and I'm not sure I'd have done it left to my own devices... but that's blood under the bridge, hey?" Faith locked eyes with the older woman, "Time to make another choice. Accept what you are, or hide from it. Bend the fucking thing... or don't."

Christine glared at her again, then shook her head. She slid her hands to the ends of the tire iron and brought both fists together slowly, with a bit of effort. The tire tool curved slowly into a U and she tossed it onto the pile of kevlar vests in the center of the table, looking defiantly at Faith.

"Coolness." Faith grinned. She took several IWC New York cards with Vi's name and number on them and slid them across the table to Christine. "We live through the next couple of days, and I'll put you and your people together with some folks who can explain a lot more about this than I can. And we'll knock heads with Daywalker and Nightstalker here and with Vince and see about setting up something to last after I move out." She paused thoughtfully, "First we need to live through the next couple o' days. Welcome to Rule One: Don't die - it fucking ruins your day."

"You know," Dean said softly, "You can be an absolutely ruthless bitch sometimes, can't you." He ignored Hannibal's and Gunn's glares at him.

"Yup." She gave him a a look, her expression amused. "I'd say it comes with the Calling... but I was ruthless before that." He shook his head.

Faith caught O'Brien's eye. "Got what you need?" She indicated the pile of gear on the table.

O'Brien exchanged looks with his partner, and then shrugged. "Firearms and ammo from the bloodbank. Vests. Bernadelli shotguns with incindiary CAWS rounds. Sidearms in the same caliber as those H&K's for backup." Giambione gave a bemused look at the pistol belt slung around her hips.

"Thought you told us you didn't have any firearms?" He said.

"Naw. Said that you'd have to get a warrant to search and not find any," Faith returned the bemused look with interest. Frank snorted, shaking his head.

"You arrest her, Obie. She's your delinquent." Giambione reached and pulled a vest off of the pile and begin shrugging into it. "I'm ready to go poke a few hornets nests, myself."

"Wicked," Faith grinned at him. "My friends will hand out some other specialized loads for you and explain 'em. Let's go kick over some tables."

"What exactly have you got in mind?" Detective Carson gave her a curious look, visibly swallowing his irritation over the bit with her and Christine.

"We're done being defensive. We're going to visit them where they play and live, and show the flag." She gave him a slightly manic look, "Kill shit, break things, rattle some cages, and get some intel. You game?"

**...**

Black Label was jumping for an off night. Music was pounding along with the flashing strobes, the discordant techno-grunge that no matter what their original tastes, most vampires grew to prefer after being embraced. It appealed to the inner beast, one might suppose. Figures clad in leather and studs, with wildly colored hair, danced more fluidly than it seemed the jarring beat would allow for, inhuman grace lending a predatory sensuousness to the movement. Others lounged at various tables and booths, feeding from vampire groupies or zoning on blood cocaine. In the center of the pit, a small clump of newer vamps slammed together in frenzy.

Things hadn't been jumping even on weekends, not until recently. Rumor had it the Daywalker and his people had killed Drake - Dagon, one of the Elders - in New York and in the process had unleashed some sort of hellish virus that virtually annihilated the Draaken population over the course of a few weeks. From New York it spread, hitting Philly in good time. Whatever it was, it had been weaker by the time it reached here, destroying only six out of every ten rather than almost all as it had up coast. Luckily, it seemed to affect the other main breed of vampire, the Kindrel, almost as badly: taking out at least half of their numbers wherever it spread... and they hadn't been nearly as numerous to begin with. Unluckily... it affected the demonic breeds not at all, and they'd moved into areas like cockroaches, along with several younger Masters, faster than the remaining Kindrel and Draaken could exterminate them.

Nothing much to do for that except breed and replenish the population. That was the nice thing about vampirism, Marcos reflected. While pure bloods like himself could breed with other purebloods the old fashioned way, they weren't limited to just that. All it took was a draining and a mixing of blood, and voila - new vampires. And as the old commercial went: they bit two friends, and they bit two friends, and so on and so on...

Naturally, the Kindrel didn't care for that very much. They were a lot pickier about embracing mortals, and had rules and laws about it - strongly enforced ones, that they attempted to impose on other breeds as well. Neither did the demonic essence Kaineron: other breeds of vampire were competition to them. (Which was why most breeds exterminated the Kaineron wherever they settled: the bastards bred too fast, they obeyed no rules except those of the jungle, they attracted too much attention in any area except for mystical hot spots... and they had too high a proclivity for indulging their demonic aspect via apocalyptic magics. They also attracted Slayers - and there were too damned many of those around lately.)

None of that would have been too bad, usually. There had been disruptions to the balances of power before, and it had always evened out into equilibrium eventually. Draaken would breed until their numbers were past replenished, Kindrel would negotiate until it was futile, then they'd strike, Draaken would strike back, Kindrel would bring in several members of their Assassin clans, and there'd be a nice little war until the populations of both were stable again. Then both would neogitate a treaty and join forces to exterminate the Kanieron who'd moved in to take advantage. Good time was had by all, except the Kaineron - and who gave a shit what they thought? Pretty soon, things would even out and the night world would settle back under the radar again. Business as usual: feed and breed.

Except that something had kicked things sideways more than usual, this go round. Something had caused the main Hellmouth in that pissant little California town to fall in on itself and suddenly there were slayers popping up everywhere, faster than you could gut them. The other Hellmouths had responded to the collapse of the big one by changing from dormant to active, for some bizarre mystical reason, causing the Kaineron populations to boom - and to move out as slayers settled into the other Hellmouths to hunt, along with their idiot Revised Watcher's Council. No major thing... if that damned virus hadn't killed off most of the Kaineron's natural predators...

On top of that, as if it wasn't enough... something had created a huge mystical event in Jersey City that caused both the Daywalker and what was left of his people, and that damned Dark Slayer to go berserk on J-City's resident demon underworld and remaining vampire population. Had even gotten both the Hellfire Club and the ancient Elders of the Kindrel roused - something no one really wanted to see happen. Would have had its up aspects if they'd roused to kill the bent slayer, NYC's slayer infestation, and the Daywalker... but that hadn't happened. Instead the heavy hitters had begin moving through things like sharks through shallow water and putting out the word that they weren't going to look happily on anyone that caused an all out war between the IWC and the supernatural underworld's movers and shakers. Something sensibly stupid, like say... icing that psychotic Faith bitch. Instead, word had gone out to let things play... and somehow, a tenth Hellmouth had opened.

Which left what was left of the sensible vampires and demons migrating out of New York and Jersey and Kaineron moving in, causing more disruptions than usual for this kind of thing. And which left Marcos too paranoid to really enjoy sitting back in his private niche watching the replenishment of his clientèle and the infusion of custom that came with it. He was too busy wondering every time the back door opened if it was going to be Prince Santos' even more psychotic Death Dealer bitch moving in with her herd of hand picked street Kindrel thugs to clean the place out... as rumor had it she'd already done to two similar bars and a major blood facility.

A bright spot in the entire mess was the unexpected visit from the tall, slick, black lawyer from Wolfram and Hart. Two of the bouncers had escorted him back, very politely, so that no one would get stupid and try to drain his human ass. A surprise in a lot of ways: Marcos had heard that Wolfram and Hart's LA offices were being cleaned up by that idiot souled Kaineron Master. He hadn't expected a courtesy call from one of their representatives who was in Philly on legal business, a business card, and an offer of services if they should be needed.

Aside from that high point, the rest of the recent turn of events kinda sucked, but it did have its blessings in a way.

If Marcos hadn't already been hyper alert, he reflected later, he'd have missed the very slight glitter of something small and round arcing through the lights and over the center of the main bar, and wouldn't have been paranoid enough to dive beneath his table and against the wall before whatever the hell it was went off with a flash of hellishly bright light...

Shortly after, there were sparks and ashes everywhere, and screams as idiot, drugged up vamp groupies suddenly realized they were being held or hanging off of flaking ash, and gunfire everywhere. Two of his bodyguards had been slow, and they were twinkling ash on the floor nearby. The remaining one had risked rising up to throw a fast look over the divider to see what the score was, gun in hand. Not fast enough - something nailed her in the head and moments later she was burning from the inside out and ashing herself. Marcos pushed himself into the corner and held deathly still. (Amused that even approaching death didn't take his sense of an ironic turn of phrase) He could hear movement and more gunfire, sporadic now as what few were left upstairs were stupid enough to expose themselves to see what was going on. Maybe they'd forget to check the alcoves. Slim chance, but better than none.

That was when a pair of motorcyle boots appeared at the edge of his table and a hand flipped it over. A short dark-haired woman hopped up to balance on the edge of the heavy table like a demented raven, all in black, sword in one hand and a huge bore single action revolver pointed at him from the other. He had a brief moment of sanity and almost convulsively threw his own pistol onto the floor toward her.

"Who the fuck are you?" Marcos stared at her. She pushed the flat brimmed hat off onto her back with the muzzle of her pistol and a slow smile spread across her lips, never reaching the dark eyes.

"I'm Death in a long coat. I ride a steel horse and lightning walks around me. I'm The Thing the Darkness Fears... and I'm a little bit annoyed." She cocked her head, eyes liquid and remote. "Faith. Slayer."

Unholy fuck. No one had even _rumored_ in his earshot that the Dark Slayer was in town. He'd neglected to be paranoid about the _other_ psychotic bitch from Hell...

**...**

"Stand up," Faith suggested. Been a long time since she'd seen a vampire scared enough to piss blood down his leg. Kewl.

"What do you want?" He kept the 'bitch' from making its way out of the back of his throat. Marcos levered himself onto his feet against the alcove wall, hands away from his body, as a huge black guy, a smaller white guy with a beard, and a blonde who gave off the same predatory vibes as the smaller woman joined them. He didn't need to see the tattoos to recognize the black man: the shades, sword, dhampir smell, and coat were enough. The Dark Slayer and the Daywalker. Which would make the lean guy Hannibal King. He wasn't even going to guess at who the blonde was: the slayer vibe off of her was enough. That and the body armor and badge...

A slayer cop. A fucked state of affairs just got worse.

"Several things, Marcos." Faith looked up at the black haired vampire disinterestedly. "Mostly, it's training time and you're an object lesson on how to clean out a vampire bar. But I also want information. Cough it up, and you might unlive awhile longer." There were more shots in the background and the occasional shout. "I don't really care either way."

"Ask."

"Kay-oh. Two things, first," Faith nodded. "One) Prince Santos. I want to know where he lives. Think I'm going to pay him a visit, have words and shit. Two) And I don't really expect you to know this one, but never hurts to ask: the Elora bitch. Wanna know where to find her."

Marcos closed his eyes. Oh shit. "Don't know, on either of those."

Faith glanced up at Blade, who shrugged, "He's small fish. I doubt that this chickenshit is going to know, really." She nodded. Marcos opened his eyes carefully, after a moment passed and he didn't end up ashes.

"Figured as much." That disinterested gaze skewered him again. "Three) The detective here is going to toss you a pad when I'm done, and you're going to jot down a list of every single Familiar and Ghoul in this city that you know of. Who they are, who they work for, and where they work. Get me?"

"Fuck! They'll kill me if I do that!" Marcos paled.

He'd never seen anyone move quite that fast. One moment the big black man was standing relaxed next to Faith; the next Marcos had an arm like a steel bar across his throat and the point of one of those wicked looking silvered glaives he'd heard about a fraction of an inch from his left eye. "What, are you fucking stupid?" A growling voice hissed next to his ear. "Motherfucker - _we'll_ kill you. You don't have to worry about _them_." The lean guy was shaking his head sadly.

"Guess being turned really does kill brain cells, huh?" King gave Faith an amused glance.

"Yeah, explains a LOT, doesn't it?" she said, looking him up and down.

"Ha ha. Smart ass."

"Man! Wait - hey," Marcos pressed himself as far away from that point as he could, which wasn't far. He rolled his eyes toward the dark woman. "Look, Slayer - you want Santos and his bitch? No problem - I'll locate them for you! We have common enemies there, right? Makes us on the same side. But I can't give you the other... "

"No. We're not on the same side. You're not ash because I have a use for you. For now," Faith's soft voice would have made his blood run cold if it wasn't already near room temperature. "You'll either make out that list... or I'll get it from someone else. And when I do, I'll put the word out that it came from you." She smiled, "How long you think you'll last anywhere here or in Europe after that?"

He thought about it, and finally swallowed hard. What little he knew of Faith suggested that she didn't talk just to make noise. When she saw the change in the back of his eyes, she motioned and the Daywalker released him with a growl, stepping back. She nodded to the blonde woman who pulled a pad with a pen attached to it and tossed it to him. He nearly dropped it, but managed to fumble it into his hands.

"Start writing. And write fast: you're already wasting time I don't care to spend," Faith suggested. "Oh. Also... " Marcos looked up. Faith stood easily and stepped off the table, giving him a long look, "Put the word out. This just became a vampire free city. Whatever is left of you has until I put paid to Elora to clear the fuck out. Any vamp of any breed here after that, and any familiars or ghouls still around, are _dead_ dead." She quirked a half smile, "I were you, I'd clear out long before that."

Marcos looked into those dark eyes until his own broke away, unable to hold the contact any longer. He started writing.

**...**

The next two vampire bars went the same way, in quick succession. After that, they broke into three groups: Faith, Dean Winchester, and Hogan and O'Brien's people in one; Blade and Hannibal as a pair; and Vince and his people in the third. They hit three more, quickly, and then broke off as planned before word could spread out for the next ones to be serious traps.

Not that Faith had any objection to taking a trap apart from the inside to see what made it tick. If they hit somewhere as a full group, they had enough firepower to take just about anything apart. She had other ideas though...

The South Philly demon bar went very still and quiet when she threw the bouncer in ahead of her and stalked in over him. It went even quieter when the seven Major Cases detectives and Winchester filed in after, looking around casually. She'd explained to them what to expect, and to not show any surprise or startlement - bored amusement was the best route. Or cop face, if they couldn't manage the former.

A pair of vampires had half stood when the bouncer hit the floor. They went into game face and moved around their table toward her as she stopped, lighting a cigar and surveying the place casually while stamping slush off of her boots. Her hand blurred twice, nearly invisible, and both vampires poofed into dust and a pair of wood and steel spikes clinked to the floor moments after.

A pair of eight foot tall things with scales and too many teeth stood rumbling from their table as she stepped farther in. One of them collapsed abruptly as the arm blurred again and the wicked Jackal style knife stood out of its chest. The other froze and there was a sound of several shotgun actions being racked.

"Are you _really_ stupid enough to want to dance with me?" Faith ambled over and picked up the spikes, her eyes never leaving the taller demon's.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Faith. Slayer." She grinned as he took several steps back from her when she straightened and stepped forward until she could kneel and take her knife back from his friend. "Smart." She nodded casually. "Stay smart."

The big horned thing behind the bar leaned forward on its hands over the bar top as she walked up with Hogan, O'Brien, and Christine behind her, Giambione covering their backs. "Are you fucking insane, Slayer? Bringing normals and _cops_ in here?"

"Some of your vamp friends went over the edge. Rules have changed, now." Faith smiled and drove the point of the knife through his right hand and deep into the bartop, letting him feel the hunger in that blade as it quivered there. The short Faithkeeper sword came off of her left shoulder and the point went under his chin, holding him in place. "Owner of the place in? Wanna have a short chat with him."

There was a boom! from behind them as a 12 guage went off and a silver slug impacted on something. A body hit the floor with a crash that shook the place slightly.

"I'm the owner," grated out of him.

"Wicked." The knife was gone from his hand as fast as it went in. The sword point never moved from under his chin, however. "New Rules. New Sheriff in town. Meet Detective Christine Sullivan, Slayer. Her partners are the Major Cases squad from the mid-south precinct. They come in, you and everyone in here gets real polite, says yessir a lot, and no one does anything stupid."

"And why is that?" An eyeball rolled down to look at her.

"Man, you got a pair." Faith's eyes crinkled with amusement. "K', you get one moment of stupidity for free. Don't make a habit of it. I can just as easy clean out this bar as an example and talk to the next one down the road. Ain't a damned thing in here that can slow me down."

"All right, you got my attention, Slayer," grumbled out. "Slayers."

"Kewl. Why is 'cause this just became a vampire free town. No licks allowed. But ain't no one really interested in demons as long as everyone's friendly and no one goes munching on the civvies, right?"

"Right," the big demon relaxed slightly and made a motion to the rest of the bar. "We're all peaceable folks. No Hellmouth here to draw in the bad elements."

"Right," Faith nodded agreeably. "The other 'why' is becuz before too long, there's going to be a squad of slayers here and a group of Nightstalkers around making certain that no one gets all forgetful and shit. And one of the J-City players is branching out a bit this way as well, if you catch my drift." Faith stepped back, sheathing the blade behind her left shoulder. "Anything happens to any of these cops, doesn't matter if it's demon related or not... it becomes a demon free town as well. Might be in everyone's best interest to see that doesn't happen."

The thing rubbed the spot under its chin where the sword point had rested. "What's in it for us?"

"Well, for one thing, I don't have to come back and voice my displeasure. No one wants a cranky Faith rolling around." She watched him digest that and continued, "For another... no vamps and no familiars means an awful lot of business opportunities open up. As long as they don't involve harming normals, that is. Also means a lot less 'end of the world' type crap. Make with the information and tips on occasion when Christine or her partners walk in, and no one bothers you."

The demon looked around at the rest of the group, and got careful nods back. "I can live with that."

"Coolness." Faith gave him a nod and stepped back again. "One other thing... from here on in, any vamps, no matter what breed, and any familiars or ghouls, are fair game. No one is going to care if they vanish. Free pass on that: no one is going to look real hard if there's a vamp ownership mark on a dead crunchie." Her eyes went cold for a moment: "But don't abuse it," she said, softly. "No putting tats or marks on the bodies just to get freebies."

They all backed out of there carefully, watching the room as they went.

**...**

They gathered back at the vehicles and Faith lit a smoke. "You do that a lot?" Christine asked.

"Yup." Faith grinned, "But no more than I have to. Your odds get worse every time. Knowin' when to push and when to quit is a big part of the 'Don't die'." She gave the detective an amused look, "I'm kinda still working on the knowin' when to quit part. But I'm gettin' better."

"I can't believe you're letting demons live behind us," Dean gave her a half exasperated, half pissed off look.

"Not all demons are evil, Dean. And not all of them prey on humans," Faith gave him a careful look. Dean was a lot more wired than she'd expected after that. "And you can't kill everything." She paused thoughtfully, "Yet." Faith gave Dean a hard look, and finally it was his eyes that looked away. "This ain't hunting demons one at a time and movin' on, Dean. This is a war zone, and it gets ugly." Inside she gave a small sigh that didn't show except in the back of her eyes. Any chances of her and Dean coming to an understanding were dying, she could feel it, and there wasn't anything to be done for it.

"Why not? Kill everything, I mean?" Hogan gave her a hard look, drawing her attention over. "Are you sure those... things will keep their end of things?"

"Because right nw, there's too many, and we have vampires to work on. One thing at a time." Faith shrugged. "And... no. There ain't no 'sure' in this." She paused and gave him a considering look, "But - they don't really want to piss me off, because they can't be _sure_ they can kill me, and they can't be certain that even if they can, it won't bring down a lot more heat than anyone really wants. So they play it careful and they walk light when I'm on the prod."

"That doesn't seem to have stopped our blonde lady from going for you," Burns remarked.

"Vampires are arrogant, most of them. It gets in the way of their good sense. So are demons... but their sense of self preservation is usually higher," Faith stated. She grinned. "There's a limit to how far I can ride that, but I can ride it. And every time I do it successfully - I can ride it a bit farther next time."

"Let's argue the fine points after," O'Brien suggested. He looked at Faith, "What's next?"

"Hrrm... we do two more of these, and then we meet up with the others and go hit one of the big players." She considered, "Then we fade and let the hornets sting each other and wait. That's part of the knowing when to quit thing."

"All right," Hogan said. "How much of this is going to spill out onto the civilians when things explode?"

Faith's eyes went dark. "Hard to gauge. Not much, because neither vampires or demons like to get attention drawn to them, with rare exceptions. But... it's just like when you guys get into the middle of a gang war: there's always some spillover."

The look she gave him and O'Brien was bleak, "But that don't mean I _like_ it, or I have to accept it." She shook her head and ground out her cigar underfoot. "We're wasting moonlight. Let's roll."


	23. Chapter 23: A good piece of hickory

**Chapter 23: **_**"Nothing beats a good piece of hickory... "**_

Demon bar number two was a rerun of number one, only with more violence. The inhabitants didn't take well to Faith and Major Cases entry, nor to Faith dusting the four vampires sitting at a side table when they stood. It was Faith''s laying out the situation that sent everything sideways, however... Less than five minutes after they walked in, there was gunfire and bodies all over and Christine Meadows had gotten her first real taste of what being a slayer encompassed when a fyarl demon tore her shotgun out of her hands and backhanded her away. Faith's reaction was to break off her own brawl with two creatures just long enough to toss Christine a sword before lunging back in.

When the red haze cleared from her vision, the fyarl was decapitated and there were body parts from at least two more scattered around her and she was grinning wildly and looking around for more. She felt exhilarated, bruised, sick at her stomach... and more alive than she ever had before.

Faith's only reaction was to re-appropriate her blade and sheath it, before looking over the rim of her shades at her saying, "Nice. Technique needs work, but I think you have the ferocity thing down pat there."

The owner of the place had caught an incendiary slug and a load of silver buckshot through the chest from O'Brien and Hogan's shotguns almost simultaneously, so Faith repeated the score to the bartender and they moved on. The only injuries were several cracked ribs on Detective Burns.

At number three, after taking a look around once they'd walked in and Winchester and O'Brien's people had fanned out around her, Faith relaxed slightly, grinning. With the exception of two tables of vampires glaring at each other and muttering, Kaineron on one side of the bar and a half dozen Draaken staring them down from the other - the bar was filled with predominately peaceful demon types. The vampires - both sets - glared. The demons looked more terrified of them than anything else. Dean looked more satisfied after the carnage in this place. Faith was beginning to worry about him: his expression reminded her far too much of some of her worse moments.

Burns, Stevie, and Carson came in the back as Faith looked around and said, "Kay-oh. I'm Faith, Slayer." She paused a moment to let the muttering die out, "We're here for the vamps. Rest of you can scram - bartender will give you the four-one-one when we're done with him." She pinned the human looking bartender with her eyes as he sidled along the bar attempting to join the 'rest of you' in scramming. "That means _you_ stay, chuckles."

Dust and ashes drifted down to the floor shortly after the exodus, except for one Draaken that Faith let go after repeating her 'Vamp free town' speech to him and telling him to spread the word.

"Slayer," the Irish looking bar demon looked up from polishing the bar top nervously as she ambled up to lean against it with Christine and the others spread out around her.

"Demon," she nodded. "Have any decent beer?"

"Guinness?" Faith nodded, shrugging. O'Brien gave the bartender a careful look as he went to get the drink and then turned a curious look on Faith.

"You sure he's a demon? Looks human enough to me," he said.

"Brachen demon. They can take on a natural human guise fairly easily." She picked up the mug and took a sip, saying, "Show him."

"Oh, come on... you know that's uncomfortable as all hell." Faith gave him a steady look and he sighed theatrically and spikes popped out all over his face and went away immediately. "Happy now? Sheesh."

"Yup." She grinned. "These you don't have to worry about, Five-oh. They're mostly harmless."

The demon gave her an outraged look. "Mostly harmless? Harmless?!" He leaned on the bar, turning to O'Brien. "Name's Kyle. And, why, I'll have you know that back in the old country, I was known as the Scourge of Killarney. Harmless me mother's left buttock. Why - there's no end to the atroc... stop that, Slayer."

"Stop what?" Faith gave him an innocent look.

"Stop nodding your head seriously with your eyes wide and going 'uh huh, uh huh'. It ruins the bloody effect."

"Uh huh." She shook her head, grinning.

"So, you're really harmless?" Christine stepped up to lean against the bar next to Faith.

"I would say 'non-hostile', myself, but... " He rolled his eyes when Faith gave him her 'hanging on every word' face again. "Oh for... yes. I even catch crickets and put them outside rather than step on them. Satisfied? Roaches I let my cat eat, however."

"You have a cat?" Faith lifted an eyebrow. "Poker stakes?"

"Poker... oh, that's bloody gross, Slayer." He shook his head, ignoring Giambione's snickering at Faith's winding him up, and turned to Christine. "Heard there were two of you now. Isn't Buffy Summers supposed to be a lot younger?"

"Younger.. ?" Christine gave him an accused look, then glowered.

"Ummm... that's not Buffy." Faith said.

"You mean there's _three_ of you now? What the fuck?" He shot her an incredulous look.

"More than that. Haven't you heard? Sunnydale go down da hole, huge magical effect, slayers all over the place... " Faith gave him an incredulous look back at his blank expression. "You're kidding me?"

"Sunnydale fell in a hole? The main Hellmouth?" His eyes went wide. "When did this happen?"

"Don't you ever watch the news on that thing?" Faith pointed at the wall mounted television.

"No. Sports. Who the hell wants to watch a bunch of blow dried idiots spout bullshit?"

"Demon underground? First Evil? Watcher's council blown up? Rain of fire in LA? Slayers popping up all over? Newly active Hellmouths in Cleveland and Chicago? Any of this ringing a bell?"

The bartender was shaking his head with each, increasingly looking at her as if she was insane. He nodded furiously and said, "Nope."

"What, have you been living under a fucking... " Faith gave him a suspicious look. "Hey!" She glared.

"Gotcha going there, didn't I?" He cocked his thumb and forefinger and fired it at her. "Ruin my bloodthirsty reputation, will you?"

"You asshole," Faith glowered at him, taking a swig of her beer. "I think I'll nail you into a box and ship you to the props department at Wormhole X-treme. Wiseass."

"You just shot holes all over my bar and _I'm_ an asshole? Sheesh." He shook his head and looked around at the cops and Dean, "Can I get you folks anything? Beer?" Seeing the hesitant looks, he added, "Beer beer. No tricks, no Mickey Finns, no nothing. Just beers."

"Might as well," Faith said with a sour look at him. "Should be all right: he knows very little would affect me or Chris and we'd still be here after."

"Slayer, you wound me." He started setting up bottles for the others. The smirk he got from Faith had 'don't tempt me' in it as clear as a telegraph. She dug several bills out of her pocket and tossed them on the bar. Kyle looked at them and shook his head, pushing them back. "On the house, Slayer."

"No." She slid them over again. "No freebies."

"Why not?" Christine gave her a curious look as she took a drink.

"No freebies. Information's one thing: that's the cost of them being left alone." Faith met hers, O'Brien's, and Hogan's eyes in turn. "But no freebies, and no 'slayer discounts'. Leads eventually to lookin' the other way from things we shouldn't."

"You're hard, Slayer." Kyle shook his head, sorrowfully.

"Been down that road," Faith gave him a flat look. "Ain't traveling it again." She finished her beer, "Why we're here... "

Kyle held up a hand, looking from her to the others. "Word's already gone around. Consider it said." When Faith lifted an eyebrow, he shrugged. "New invention. Called a 'telephone'." Giambione laughed and Faith grinned with a rueful expression.

"So there is," she nodded. "Who's the big player for the Draaken in this city? And where can we find both him and Prince Santos?"

"Not together, I would suspect." His tone and expression were wry. "Santos owns the old Penn Ryan Manor by the Delaware." Faith glance to O'Brien and received a nod indicating he knew of the place. "Draaken have several factions, but the biggest is run by an elder who goes by Kreigan. He holds court at the old Bolton estate."

Faith nodded, "Thanks." She gave the demon bartender a not entirely unfriendly look. "Time to saddle up, then. Hope you're not planning to use that new invention to pass the word ahead of us?"

He shook his head, "Naw. I don't care much for vamps. Frag 'em all." His eyes went slightly wide as her full import registered. "Wait... you're going to hit both of them tonight? That's crazy!"

"Good. Maybe they'll think so, too."

**...**

Faith checked her watch. Three and three, vampire and demon haunts, and except for the last one here it had taken longer to drive between them than the time spent inside showing the flag. If Blade and Vince were on the same track, that was a total of ten others hit in the same time frame. By now, survivors were scattering and frenzied messages and rumors were going out in all directions. Safe to say the big bads knew something was going down.

And it was barely 10pm yet...

"Night's still young," Faith glanced up at the half moon and lit a cigar, then looked over at O'Brien.

"And we are old," he gave her a sour grin.

snort "Speak for yourself, Five-oh." Corners of her eyes crinkled at him. "Know what you mean. S'not the years, it's the mileage." He snorted back.

"And you got a lot of miles, girl," a familiar voice said as its owner came around the building corner. Everyone tensed, weapons moving unconsciously in that direction.

"Gunn," Faith nodded, letting the others know to stand down. "You still say the sweetest things, babe." Her eyes swept over the taller black man, giving him a probing examination. "See you didn't get dead on me."

"Naw. Just exercising my jaws so far tonight. You guys been doing the heavy lifting." He gestured back to the sword grip extending over his shoulder, "'Bout ready to exercise something else now."

Dean pushed past her, jostling her shoulder as he went by her and Gunn. Faith stared at his back with her eyes going narrow. Frank and O'Brien looked after him with frowns. Faith shook her head.

"Hey. What's your problem, Dean?" She caught up with him in two long steps and put a hand on his arm. He shook it off, turning on her.

"That." He pointed back at the bar they'd just left, jaw working for a moment. "You standing there joking around with that thing, and letting all of those demons skate out."

"Shoulda killed 'em all, huh?" Faith nodded. "They're not evil, Dean. And they're not a threat. We're here for a purpose."

"They're _demons_," Dean gave her an exasperated look, then moved his hands and ran them through his hair, frustrated. "Of _course_ they're a threat - they're not human."

"Neither am I, Dean." The look that met his eyes wasn't hostile, or challenging. Merely... understanding. "Neither is Christine, any more."

"Bullshit." He shook his head, "You're as human as I am. Or O'Brien."

"No. I'm a twenty year old woman who had the essence of a primal spirit bound into her at the age of fifteen," Faith stated, flat. "I'm a predator wearing the shape of a young woman, no more human than our blonde vampiress is. Less human than that Brachen bartender in some ways."

"No, you're a twenty year old woman who happens to be a hunter like me." Dean made to brush past her again. This time she didn't give with the push, moving instead into his path. When he reached her, he bounced back a step.

"This ain't the time, and it ain't the place, Dean, but you've been on edge over this all night and getting more tightly wound with every place we hit. It's going to get someone killed. Finish it, put it behind, and then let's move on."

"All right," he said, clenching his jaw. "Demons. Supernatural creatures. You can't leave them behind to co-exist with humans. They're evil."

"I'm a supernatural creature, and I'm evil." Faith said, softly. "Five-oh and his people are human, and they're evil."

"What?!" Dean gave her an incredulous look, clenching his fists. Frank Giambione started to take a step forward and Gunn put a hand on his arm, shaking his head. "They're cops. Sure... a lot of cops are crooked, but evil? You're nuts."

"Just figured that out, huh?" A small grin twisted the corner of Faith's mouth, then disappeared. "Yeah. They're hired guns for the politicians. Their job entails imposing someone's political will on other people at gunpoint and at threat of law, without the consent of the people being imposed on. Stealing property and controlling lives. You and I pay their salaries and their bosses salaries with taxes, but you don't want to be imposed on? Hey - too bad. Try to say 'no' sometime, or resist the way you would if a regular thug wanted your money or to dictate how you live. See how fast comes it a club upside the head, or a gun, or a pair of cuffs. Refuse to do what a politician wants to do with your property sometime, and when O'Brien comes out to enforce the decision, point a gun at him and tell him to get off your ground like you would any trespasser. See how fast you become a 'right wing terrorist' and some Lon Horiuchi type puts cross hairs on you and executes you with legal blessing." She pointed over at Hogan, "Hogan and his people are an _exception_, not the _rule_. They're more interested in what's _right_ than in what's _legal_. More interested in enforcing real law: rape, murder, robbery, assault, than in petty regulations. _That's_ why you're not sitting in County waiting for the BATFE to pick up you and Sam, and why I'm standing here with enough hardware to arm a renaissance faire and I don't have cuffs on." She shrugged, "But the _job_ they do is still evil because it entails forcing someone else's will on other people against their wills. At gun point, and with the threat of a cage or death backing it up. It's innately evil and it taints them and it taints everything they touch."

"Bullshit." Dean glared. "And you're not evil, either."

"Why? Because I'm an attractive girl you slept with? And I did a few nice things?" Faith's eyes were amused. "I killed a man by accident when I was fifteen and tried to cover it up. I murdered two more later and watched the life go out in their eyes and smiled at them while it did. Three... but one was a demon, and by the rules we play by, he don't count. I turned on the good guys and joined up with an evil sorcerer who wanted to become a demon. If he'd made it, it would have meant the deaths of thousands of people. I kidnapped a girl and enjoyed threatening to torture and kill her and watching the fear behind her eyes. It was power, a rush. " She could see every word hitting him like bullets, and she couldn't stop the calm rush of words. "I tried to kill my sister slayer's lover, and that's the only one I won't cop to: he was a vampire, and we're supposed to kill vampires, souled or not makes no difference. She stuck my own knife in my gut because she needed my blood to cure him of the poison I stuck in him. Nothing heroic about it: pure selfish want - I saw it in her eyes. And she was one of the 'good guys'. Which of us was evil there?" Faith's voice went even softer, "When I woke up from my coma, I held her little sister and her mom hostage. I switched bodies with her and slept with her new lover to hurt her. The only one there who wanted to be friends with me... I practically raped, and later when he wanted to help me, I tried to strangle him. I kidnapped Wesley Price and tortured him: not because he tried to help have me kidnapped and sent back to England for trial - but because it was a way to hurt someone else. Evil, by any standards you want to name."

"You were sick back then. You don't do those things any more," Dean's glare was a bit less certain than it had been.

"I am _not_ going to let you do that. That was a _reason_, not an _excuse_. It wasn't even the _real_ reason. The predator inside took over and I _let_ it." Faith's eyes smoked into him. "I _enjoyed_ doing those things. Every single minute of every single day, I walk a knife's edge around decisions that most people take for granted. Do I save this guy or turn away and let the vamps have him? Do I gut the guy who just elbowed me in line at the supermarket... or do I ignore it? Do I flip the bird at the ditz who just cut me off in traffic and move on? Or do I chase her down and rip out her spine for it? I walk that edge successfully because I _deliberately_ make choices that other people take for granted. I don't ever lose that deliberation, because I can't afford to: if I my awareness slips, then I kill. No cage can hold me unless I let it. I'd _enjoy_ feeding that darkness again. It makes me sick inside constantly to know how much I'd enjoy letting it slip... "

"Yeah, but you do keep that control. You don't do those things any more." Dean stated. Faith shook her head.

"Makes me a passive danger. Just like them," she jerked her head at the bar. "Means O'Brien doesn't have to worry about me and put me down... unless my control slips. Same for those. The vampires we've been hunting down are an active danger: they consider humans as _prey_, just like I did. We're killing them not because they're 'evil', but because they're predators that can't be allowed to hunt here. What makes you think the demons we let go are the same?"

"They're _demons_," Dean shook his head, frustrated. "No such thing as 'harmless'. They don't have souls or conscience."

O'Brien and Hogan made a gesture for the rest of the squad to keep their eyes open. Dean and Faith might as well have been enclosed in a bubble at the moment, concentration locked on each other to the exclusion of everyone else.

"Naw. That's the same mistake a lot of slayers make, and the old watcher's council used to. They don't have _human_ souls, Dean. They have _demon_ souls," Faith shook her head. "And having a soul or the lack of one doesn't make you 'good' or 'evil'. I had a fucking _soul_ when I murdered and tortured. Serial killers have souls... and they're bigger threats than that bartender. My friend Angel having a soul doesn't make him 'good', what makes him good are the choices he makes. I could name another who was turning that way when he still had a demon soul. Our vampire bitch isn't a demonic vamp like we find at the Hellmouths: she still has her human soul after being turned. Soul doesn't make her what she is. She's no more 'evil' or 'good' than a lioness is. She's just a predator, doing what a predator does." Faith's gaze was level on his eyes, "When I killed that demon in the first bar, I killed a person, just like when I accidentally staked Alan Finch. When I threw a UV-grenade into that vamp bar, I killed _people_; people who just happened to be monsters. No different than when you kill a human. If I gutted that bartender when he wasn't being a threat, it would have been murder."

"Oh? Then how the hell do you justify doing this at all?" Dean's voice was nearly strangled.

"Simple. You draw a line on what you will and won't do, and why you do it. And you keep it clearly in mind." Faith took a deep breath. "We stand in the way of the monsters and the innocent. Like O'Brien and them stand between innocents and human monsters. We fight, we protect, and we die if needs be. Because when it comes down to it... the job is protecting humans from being feed for things. If it's humans or them - it's _them_. But we don't murder or kill just because we can. We don't become monsters. If they're not a threat, we leave 'em be."

"You're twisting everything I say around. Turning things upside down." Dean glared at her.

"Naw. I'm telling you how the world works, and it doesn't match what you wanna believe. It ain't black and white," she said. Faith's expression was bleak. "Get your head straight, Dean, and get your game face on. We have work to do." She locked his eyes and held them, "Or decide you can't, and go back to your brother and sit things out."

There was a swirl of leather and she was moving away from him suddenly.

Dean shook his head and started after her. A hand on his shoulder jerked him back, and he turned, glaring.

"I don't know what's going on inside you, and I don't care." Gunn said in a soft voice. "Just want you to know: you get our girl there dead because you've got her all twisted up inside, and I'll kill you. Assuming O'Brien or Giambione there don't do you first." He smiled, "And having a soul won't stop any of us." He clapped Dean on the shoulder and went past him. "Think it through."

Faith's mind churned as she headed out to where they'd left the vehicles. She really hadn't needed to have that conversation, period. It _had_ had to be done: Dean was getting wound up tighter and tighter with every place they hit. She'd needed to unwind him, fast, before something snapped and he came unwound all at once and got himself killed. Or got someone else killed... The only problem was, she had no idea if she'd managed that or if she'd just made things worse. This had taken far too long, as well...

She was deeply enough wrapped in her thoughts that she barely registered the black van pulling up in the deserted street. Only the sound of the van's side door sliding open as several demons piled out onto the street, and feeling Gunn and O'Brien's people coming to a stop and spreading out, brought her attention back to the business at hand. _'Idiot. Way to go Faith. This is why you're a killer, not a leader: don't have enough sense not to stand around jawin' when there's work to do,'_ she thought as she flowed into a wary stance. The half dozen demons spreading out into the street were Repos - gnarled hired thugs with no special abilities or immunities. Nothing special. Some demon lord's muscle.

The thing that slowly heaved and clambered its way out of the van after them was something else...

Seven foot tall or better and covered in bone like plating and gleaming armor-like metal from toe to scalp. It had orange eyes and horn and blade like protrusions all over, notably around the head. The burnished stainless looking metal wasn't armor, she saw, it was skin. Probably weighed close to a thousand pounds, maybe - none of it soft. It rolled its shoulders with a crinkling metallic sound as it stood erect and fixed a malevolent gaze upon her.

Weapons came on line, but hesitated and didn't fire. "Skippy!" Gunn smirked, coming up on her right shoulder. The metallic thing fixed a lambent gaze on him and growled deep in its chest. "Not Skippy? Skippy's little brother? Big bother?"

"Skippy?" O'Brien asked, coming up on her other side.

"Big metal asshole who supposedly worked for the Powers That Be and didn't," Gunn replied. "Firearms won't dent him. Neither will blades. You remember, Faith. Think Angel told you about that mess when you guys were staying at the hotel?"

"Yeah. Guy responsible for fucking Cordelia over?" Faith nodded. "I remember."

"Guns won't do anything?" Giambione asked from one side.

"Naw. Not unless you have an anti-tank rifle you've been hiding." Gunn stated. "Other guy's are just thugs. Guns, blades, sharp rocks will do. Silver or incindiaries."

"Yeah... have to shoot, concentrate on them," Faith nodded, sighed. "Try to not hit me, hey?" She shook her head and took a step forward.

"Don't sweat it, babe. Skippy was a pussy. Angel kicked his ass," Gunn remarked.

"He's such a pussy, you take him and I'll watch." Faith snickered and moved up to where the metallic demon stood waiting.

"Hey now. I'm the brains of the outfit. You're the brawn, girl." Gunn smirked.

"Gotta love a man who's got that unchivalrous thing down pat," Faith stopped, looking the huge bastard up and down. "Take it your name's not 'Skippy', huh?" She circled slowly, just out of reach.

"No." The thing snarled, circling with her.

Faith jerked her head towards the bar, "Sigh. Guess Kyle didn't believe me about that phone thing."

"Kyle didn't call. One of his customers did after they fled." To an onlooker, it might have looked like the two were merely turning in place around each other. They wouldn't have seen the subtle feints and tests that were attacks and responses begun and aborted before they ever progressed beyond a twitch or a shifting of weight. "Word went out after the first place you hit, Slayer."

"And the big guys sent you to beat me up and teach me a lesson, huh?" Faith smirked. "Gonna bend me over your knee and spank me for being a bad slayer? Or just bend me over? That thing vibrate?" She sent an amused glance at his crotch.

"No. Just going to kill you," he stepped in, vampire fast and swung at the place where she suddenly wasn't. She side slipped around a second blow, hands still loose at her sides. "Those others won't be a problem after."

Faith slipped under another blow, then another. "No go, too slow. Ain't gonna happen." She dodged another blow, but stepped in too close doing it and a massive elbow caught her across the chest and sent her rolling. Too close to have any real force, but the impact was bruising. She continued the roll, coming up onto her feet as he moved forward.

"You'll wear down," the demon smirked. "Just like with Jasmine's Beast. There's no Angelus here to kill me for you." The bladed spikes on a huge forearm slashed backhanded at her neck.

"Problem with that," she remarked. He turned to face her again as she went under the forearm and past him, giving a puzzled look to the gleaming split bladed knife that had suddenly appeared in her left hand. "You're not the Beast. And I've gotten bigger since then." She brought the blade up to her tongue, eyes glowing golden, and licked a metallic liquid off of it, and spat. He glanced down, frowning. There was more of the stuff oozing out of a deep cut in his abdomen. "You taste like motor oil."

"That little toy won't help you." The thing growled again and stepped in, a blur of motion. When the blows stopped, she was six feet away, balanced easily on her toes, and there were two more deep cuts in the steel skin.

"It won't?" She glanced at it, and flicked the metallic blood off of the blade. "Damn." She brought one foot up as he stepped forward, and her hand came away from her calf with a long piece of blackwood in it. "Guess I'll have to go with old school then. Nothing beats a good piece of hickory, they say."

"A stake? On me?!" A massive foot left an impact crater where she'd just been. She slid under a back handed strike that would have sent her flying broken and stepped aside again as he came around. Faith ducked under a second swing and her hand blurred as she went under and past.

"Not exactly," Faith said. His eyes went down to the blackwood grip jutting out of his body over the heart. The thing's mouth worked soundlessly, and his eyes were puzzled. The eyes came back up to lock on hers, and he collapsed to one knee, the other bent in front of him...

Faith used the bent knee as a step and the wicked double blade of the Jackal pattern knife went into his temple to the cross-guard. She reached down and pulled the African knife from his chest and her right arm came across. She stepped back holding the bladed and metallic head on the end of her left hand knife. "_'Blackwood plus all of the weapons that have ever been and and all the ones that never shall be'_, he said," she mused as the massive body toppled over at her feet.

"Here." Faith's left arm moved and the head landed in front of the small group of thug demons. "Give that back to your bosses, and tell them to stay the fuck out of my way. Take your scrap metal with you." She turned on her heel and strode back to Gunn and O'Brien and the others.

"You heard the lady," O'Brien moved the muzzle of his 12 gauge down. "Littering's a crime."

"Told you he was a pussy," Gunn said as the other demons silently picked up the body and loaded it into the van, shooting malevolent looks their way. Faith smirked at him, then her eyes clouded as she noticed Dean look away from her.

She heard Hogan's cell phone vibrate, and glanced over as he took it out and flipped it open, moving away from them a bit as he spoke into it and then listened. She raised an eyebrow slightly as she saw his go bleak.

"O'Brien. Frank." Hogan's voice was harsh. "Rimbault's is in flames."

"Nikki?" O'Brien's face went pale. He was already moving toward the vehicles as the answer came.

"No one's seen her."

"Crap." Faith and Giambione didn't catch up with him until he was almost to the car, that cop look having already taken over his visage...

**...**

'In flames' was a contender for the understatement awards. Inferno would have been a better word. When she put the kickstand down across the road from Rimbault's Bar, it didn't take even a glance for Faith to realize that no one in there was getting out alive. Several ambulances sat idle, their crews having evidently come to the same conclusion.

The firefighters weren't even trying any more, just concentrating on making sure the blaze didn't spread.

She saw O'Brien and his squad standing near the building across the way, as close as you could get to the flames without getting dead from the heat. A number of other cops stood around aimlessly, both uniforms and plainclothes. Hogan was leaning against a fire chief's car, talking to one of the fire investigators when he noticed her and nodded. She saw Kirkwood standing off to one side with a helpless expression. Hogan broke off the conversation and started across the street toward her bike.

"Damn," Gunn and Dean had wandered over while she was staring at the blaze.

"Yeah." Faith nodded. "'Bout sums it up, doesn't it?" She went back to staring into the flames, her thoughts as dark as her coat.

"LeHane. Gunn." Hogan nodded to them as he came up, turning to follow Faith's gaze to the blaze.

"O'Brien's lady friend?" Faith swallowed, having to force the question out.

"No way to tell. May be a day or more before that cools enough to get in and look for bodies." Hogan glanced at her. "No answer at her apartment."

"Christ," Faith's voice was soft. "Thought you guys were going to get all the Dependants to safe houses, or out of here?"

"Tried. Nikki wouldn't go. Said she was through having cop business disrupt her life." Hogan's voice was harsh. "Her and Obie had a huge fight over it. Real knockdown drag out. Everyone else is clear... " He sighed heavily, looking away, "At least her boy's out of the city at school. That's one thing."

Faith nodded, her throat working soundlessly. "Death is my gift. It follows me around like a puppy," she whispered. "And I give it away to everyone I meet."

Gunn gave her a sharp look, and shook his head. Hogan's eyes narrowed, seeing the blank and absolutely bloodless look on her face. "Not your fault, kid."

"Who's fault is it then?" The eyes that met his were devoid of emotion, or anything except horror and self-loathing.

"The bad guys." Hogan's gaze on her eyes managed to be hard and understanding at the same time, and she couldn't comprehend how he managed that.

Faith shook her head, looking back at the flames. "Yeah. Which ones are they, again?" Hogan and Gunn exchanged bleak looks.

O'Brien and Giambione broke away from the fire, crossing the street to stand nearby. The rest of the major cases squad trailed after, with Tom Kirkwood ambling after. O'Brien's face was a mask, as devoid of emotion as Faith's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then noticed her expression and broke off, nodding silently. He turned back with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumping, to watch the flames with the rest of them.

A sound from the nearby alleyway almost went unnoticed over the roar of the flames and the crackle of radios and other noises. It registered on Faith's hearing the second time, finally, and she shook herself. She slid off the bike's saddle, turning toward the slight sound with all of her senses straining. O'Brien noticed her movement and stepped over by her, his eyes following her gaze.

"Nikki?" Faith never wanted to hear an incredulous and disbelieving note in anyone's voice like that, ever again. O'Brien took a step towards the alley as Giambione's head whipped around in their direction.

"Kevin?" The blonde woman that came to the mouth of the alley was tall, in her forties, and with handsome features. She had a dazed expression, and blood crusted on her neck and blouse. "I was so scared from the fire, Kevin. Where have you been?"

"Nikki?" O'Brien took another step towards her, only to find a hand on his arm and an unyielding grip holding him back. He jerked his arm away, only to find it wouldn't move. "Let go of me," he said in a flat monotone.

"O'Brien... Kevin." Faith's voice was low. "That's not Nikki any more."

"Let. Go. Of. Me." O'Brien tried to pull his arm away again. Frank came up on his other side and put a hand on his partner's shoulder, watching Nikki with a puzzled expression.

"No." Faith's voice was gentle. "Listen to me, Kevin. Why all the blood? Why isn't she coming out of the alley? Why does she want you to go in there?" O'Brien gave her an uncomprehending look, "Think about it. Why wasn't she out here talking to the firemen or the other cops? Or in an ambulance?"

"What are you saying?" O'Brien shook his head. The rest of Major Cases had come over to them, looking between the three of them and the blonde woman warily, with odd expressions.

"Don't listen to her, Kevin. She wants to keep us apart." She smiled at him, a horrible expression. "She's evil." The eyes glittered malevolently when she looked at Faith, and her teeth were too long...

"What the... ? Kevin, it's just Nikki. She's hurt - why is everyone standing around?" Kirkwood gave Faith and his two friends incredulous looks, moving around them toward the woman. She smiled at him as he got closer to the ally mouth.

"_Christ!_" The grip on O'Brien's arm vanished as though it had never been, and Faith was suddenly between the reporter and O'Brien's former girlfriend, shoving Kirkwood back so hard that he stumbled and sat suddenly with a shocked expression. "That's not Nikki." She put herself between the former human and the others. "Not any more."

"Slayer... " The word came out in a hiss and the former bar owner snarled at Faith, eyes lambent and long incisors apparent to everyone. "Why'd you stop him? So hungry... " She lunged forward and Faith ducked the reaching hand, eyes bleak. She shoved the vampiress back into the alleyway, stepping back.

"Nikki." O'Brien's voice was gentle.

The vampiress turned towards him with a radiant expression. The was a sharp, flat clap of sound and Kevin O'Brien shot his former lover in the chest with a 10mm UV bullet. He watched as she burned from the inside out, his eyes bleak and his face a frozen mask.

"That wasn't Nikki any more, Tom." He turned the frozen expression on Kirkwood, then met Faith's gaze. "Thanks."

"For what? Causing you to kill your woman?" Faith shook her head. There were shouts and running footsteps as several of the other cops were drawn to the shot. Faith gave O'Brien a miserable look, then whipped her head around, searching. Something... on the very edges of her vampire sense. There... She heard faint laughter from across the street and some distance away.

Two uniforms came to a halt with their guns out, breathing heavy. A deep growl came out from low in Faith's chest and she went past them like they were statues. She crossed the street diagonally in a low blur, weaving through cars; never noticing Hogan step between her and the two uniforms and blocking their shots. She reached the row of stores across the side street from what used to be Rimbault's and went half way up the wall in a single running jump, eyes never leaving the tall figure on one of the farther rooftops until the building face blocked her line of sight.

She never slowed until she came to rest on the eight story empty roof two blocks over where Elora had been standing. Standing, watching, and laughing as Rimbault's burned and O'Brien killed his lady. And now gone, as if she'd never been...

They were still there when she came back to the building she'd scaled. Hogan and O'Brien seemed to be arguing in the middle of the street with the two uniforms and a pair of plainclothes, the rest of the group scattered about them. She stepped off the edge of the roof and landed lightly in a crouch, straightening and heading across the street.

"Christ - that had to be a four story drop," one of the plainclothesmen said. She didn't even look over as she came up.

One of the uniforms brought his sidearm up as she stalked up and O'Brien grabbed his wrist, forcing it down. "Put the gun away." Frank grabbed the man's partner's wrist and plucked the automatic from her hand, eyes cold.

O'Brien glimpsed something from the corner of his eye, and twisted the man's arm up, pushing the sleeve back. He jerked his head for Hogan to come over and brought the man's arm down to show him the small tattoo on the forearm, ignoring the bigger mans protests and attempts to yank his arm away. O'Brien's hand tightened on the man's wrist until his fingers opened and the gun clattered to the pavement.

"One of those, huh?" Hogan said, shaking his head. Giambione's voice drifted over, affirming that the female partner had the same mark.

O'Brien nodded and grabbed the uniformed officer by the throat with his other hand, his eyes remote. Colby and Christine stepped between them and the two plainclothesmen. "Not like this, Kev." Hogan stated. "Not out here in front of everyone. We'll catch them up when we clean out the others."

There was a long frozen moment where he didn't think O'Brien was going to register that, and the uniformed Familiar's face slowly turned purple, then Kevin's head jerked once in an expressionless nod and he let go, shoving the man away. Faith moved up beside him and put a hand on O'Brien's shoulder, watching dispassionately as the non-cop backed away from them gasping and holding his throat. Giambione shoved the female Familiar away, putting her automatic in his waistband.

"Be a good idea if you two found a different city and went there. Tonight." Hogan's voice was soft. His eyes went over their name tags and he nodded. "Next time, I won't stop him." He turned and swept an icy look over the two plainclothes.

"What's going on here, Lieutenant?" One of them asked. Both backed away from that look, slightly.

"You don't want to know, right?" Hogan looked them over. "This never happened, none of us were ever here, and you really don't want to know."

"Right." The one plainclothes cop looked at his partner. "Let's go interview witnesses to the fire." Neither of them looked in the direction of the two uniforms heading away from there, fast. They shrugged and headed back in the direction of the burning bar.

Hogan nodded after them and gave O'Brien a concerned look. He turned his eyes on Faith. "Next?"

The question broke through the bleak, remote look she'd had, briefly. She looked over at him startled, and then frowned when she realized Gunn and the rest of Major Cases were also watching her with various expressions.

"Me?" Faith shook her head, "Why are you asking me?" It came out as a dead, bitter sound.

"Nothing's changed, LeHane." Hogan sent a look at the alley mouth, then his eyes came back to hers. "It just got personal, is all."

"Personal... " She looked at the fire again and shivered. "Right." She gripped O'Brien's shoulder once, hard, and straightened, but the haunted look didn't leave the back of her eyes. She nodded, "Go meet the others. Move on to the next one, Kreigan's, as we planned." She gave O'Brien's shoulder another clasp, and then turned on her heel towards her bike.

"Where are you going?" O'Brien's question didn't stop her, but she turned and looked back.

"Going to go talk to Santos about not keeping a leash on his bitch." She turned back to the bike. "Think there's a fine for that, ain't it?"

Reaching the bike, Faith took it off from the stands, thumbed the starter and kicked it to life, listening to it rumble for a moment. She started it off down the street slowly, then wheeled it around and came to a rest next to the group, looking up at O'Brien. "You coming?"

O'Brien gave her a long look, then nodded. He got on behind her and took a grip on her waist. "Right," she said. She put the bike into gear and kicked it down the street, bumping up onto the sidewalk, and weaving around and past a news van just pulling in.

Gunn glanced over at Giambione. "Going to let them go there alone?"

"Not hardly." Frank joined the others in heading for the vehicles.

"Right." Gunn nodded. "We'll take my car: it's faster, and it's armored."


	24. Chapter 24: The Prince formerly known as

**Chapter 24: **_**"The Prince formerly known as 'Santos'... "**_

"So where's our girl?" Vince gave the slayer cop, Christine, a hard look.

"She went with O'Brien to have a few words with Santos." Chris stated. "Gunn and Giambione went to back them up."

"Alone?" Vince glared at her, then fixed a malevolent stare on Dean. "You let Faith wander off half-cocked and clean out a Prince's lair, alone?!" He spread his hands and gave Blade an incredulous look.

"Hey!" Dean raised his hands and took a step back from the sudden, pure, concentrated fury in the mobster looking guy's eyes.

"She didn't exactly invite the kid to go along." Hogan said mildly, adding, "And after Rimbault's, she didn't seem in the mood for company. Frank and Gunn followed without an invite."

"Rimbault's?" That was the big black guy, the one Faith had called 'Daywalker'. Not that Hogan or anyone else believed that was his real, or only name... he matched too closely to bulletins that the NYPD and FBI had had out for a mass killer known as 'Blade' six months ago, now supposedly dead. No big deal. After tonight and the next few days, Philly PD and the FBI would probably have bulletins out on all of Major Cases, as well. They were in good company.

"Yeah. Our blonde friend decided to hit Rimbault's and burn it to the ground while we've been out. Turned O'Brien's ex-girlfriend, Nikki, and left her as a present." Christine Meadows didn't look at either of them as she spoke. "Kevin had to kill her himself."

"Crap." Vince spat, looking disgusted, and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he gave Hogan and the Major Cases a sympathetic look, "Sorry for your loss." He shrugged, "Means the four guys I left keeping an eye on the place are dead and in a dumpster somewhere."

"You left people guarding Rimbault's?" Detective Brody gave him an odd look.

"Yeah? It's a war - you have to expect the other guys are gonna hit back." He shrugged. "Obviously I didn't leave enough."

"Yeah, well... thanks, anyway. For what it's worth." Detective Carson actually managed to say that without making it sound like it hurt him to thank what he took for a human mobster. Vince gave a sour grin, waving it off.

"Hold on," Blade stated. "Let's get back to that 'You let Faith wander off half-cocked and clean out a Prince's lair, alone' thing. And half crazed from thinking she's responsible for one of her friends losing someone." He gave Dean a hard look.

"She told all of us to meet you guys here and carry on," Dean said, and looked away. "Didn't think she really wanted me along, anyway."

"Why not?" The slender guy, King, gave him a strange look.

"Because right before we heard about Nikki's, babe, her and the kid had a knock down drag out at the last demon bar we hit." Colby Burns snorted. "Over her being on friendly terms with too many of the demon types we were leaving behind us."

_"What?!"_ Vince's voice came out strangled, and there was suddenly something with brown, scaled skin and far too many teeth and bony spikes wearing a suit crowding into Dean's face. He backpedaled frantically, bringing his shotgun in line. There was a sudden blur and the big black guy was standing a few feet away holding the twelve gauge from Dean's suddenly empty hands.

"Don't want to damage Faith's friend now, boy." The black guy was shaking his head. "Might just piss him off." He gave a faint smile. "Piss him off more, I mean."

King glanced around, casually. There was suddenly a lot more tension between Vince's people, Blade, and the cops. Understandably so, at the moment. However... except for the initial shock of seeing Vince drop his human guise, the Major Cases people looked more amused at Dean Winchester's predicament than sympathetic. Including the blonde slayer detective. _'Good thing Abby's not here,'_ he thought. _'Dean would be dead right now, not just flushed, angry, and embarrassed/defensive.'_ Didn't look like the cops were planning to shoot anyone at the moment. The little red head detective, she looked a bit freaked - but she was controlling it. King allowed himself to relax slightly.

"Something you better get used to, kid, if'n you're going to hang with Faith. Majority of her damned real _friends_ are demons, souled vampires, other slayers, and supernatural types. Some of 'em are even among the Good Guys, such as that goes these days." Vince snorted. "I'm a Kaliff demon. Daywalker here's a dhampir - half vampire, half human." Blade rolled his eyes and gave him a 'thanks much' glare, but Vince plowed on oblivious, "Skinny guy with the beard and the smirk there was a Draaken vampire who was cured. Now he's a Hunter, like you. My boys there are a mixture of demon types, and every damned one of them would take you apart if'n you got our girl there hurt or killed. You screw up her head in the middle of a war zone and take her off her game because you have a thing against supernatural... and I don't give a shit if your daddy did train you from birth as a Hunter. Whole lotta people are gonna come lookin' for a piece of you, and ain't all of 'em gonna be human. Or slayers."

Dean took a step back. Twice in one night he was getting his head bitten off over his attitudes. _This_ time by a demon who looked like he wanted to do it more than just figuratively - because the demon was scared for _Faith_. It didn't help that Dean couldn't escape the feeling he deserved this chewing out... _'All right, I knew it was stupid to get in that argument in the middle of a operation, anyway,'_ he thought. _'I'm still half blaming myself for that bar being torched, even though neither myself nor Faith could have done anything about it. I even knew after that talk we had that Faith's world was different from mine and Sam's. I just didn't know it was __this__ different.'_ Problem is, everything he'd been encountering since he and Sam had managed to get tied to Faith went against everything he'd thought he knew about the supernatural world. Everything their father had tried to teach him, or he'd _thought_ John Winchester had been teaching. And he realized, he'd been taking the differences out on Faith, because he was still pissed off that his brother had gotten hurt from their being blindsided by those differences. He also hadn't given much thought to how much the different world she'd been exposed to had shaped her attitudes and how she dealt with things, even after having had it laid out for him...

"You're right." Dean nodded, surprising himself. "Should have backed her and sorted it out after. I have a lot of thinking to do."

"Damn straight," Vince stated. "And this ain't the place or time to do it. Get yer head screwed on straight, sort it later. We got vamps to waste."

"Speaking of," King jerked his head in the direction of the vampire filled abandoned mansion up the road from their gathering spot.

"Which reminds me," the older cop, Hogan said in a mild tone. "You people have a plan for this?"

"Yeah." Vince gave Dean one last glare and jerked his thumb toward the line of cars. "Was thinking on filling one of my SUVs with explosives, gas, and incendiaries, surrounding the place, and having one of my boys who's immune to fire crash it through the front doors and set it off. Then killing everything that comes running out." He shrugged. "Thinkin' now I'm more in the mood to just walk in the front doors and kill everything."

"Let's go with the original plan," King suggested.

"Why? You planning to live forever, baby?" The big black detective gave King an amused look.

"Well, yeah, was actually." King grinned. "But I think I kind of blew that one when I took the Cure."

"Let's go with your original plan." Hogan said. "I kinda want to see most of us live through this, even if the wiseass here doesn't seem to care," he said, dryly. "Christine: think you, this Daywalker guy, and the Nightstalker kid here can scout the area and take down any sentries? Sheesh... " he shook his head. "I'm in a freaking comic book now."

Blade gave one of those ghost grins, "Join the club, Detective." He handed Winchester back his shotgun, his expression saying _'And be careful with it'_. The 'or else' didn't need to be added.

**...**

High wall, tall wrought iron gates with a rusty chain, a padlock, and a 'No Trespassing' sign. Lots of grounds. Brooding spooky looking and decrepit manse near the river, barely visible through the gates and the trees beyond.

"This'd be the place, huh?" Faith idled the motorcycle just outside the gates, and watched the flickering light of the occasional torch through the windows of the ancient house.

"Yeah. Penn Ryan Manor." O'Brien's voice was soft and harsh in her ear. No worries - her own voice was harsh to her ears to, right now.

"No wonder everyone think it's haunted." Faith reached over and broke the lock off the chain with a snap of her wrist.

"Supposedly is," O'Brien said. "Not just by vampires. Young woman on a white horse and a young gentleman on the river path - supposedly the ghosts of the son and one of the maids who drowned themselves."

Faith nodded. She gave the gate a yank, letting the bike roll back until there was a wide enough gap to ride in through. She let it go, backed the bike around until it was aimed at the gap, then put it in gear and rode in, picking up speed a bit once they were clear of it. She brought the bike to a stop briefly when the mansion was fully in view and there was a relatively straight path to the doors up ahead.

"This is where you get off. I'll go clear us a path." She kept the throttle running as O'Brien swung off the bike, checking the loads in his weapons. Faith looked up at him, "Be careful. Don't get dead on me."

O'Brien gave her a long look, followed by a short nod. "You either. Be careful."

"Don't have a death wish tonight." Faith shook her head and looked up at the manse. "They need to be careful of _me_." She twisted the throttle, popped the clutch, and kicked the big bike up to speed.

The two vampire guards by the doors had just finished informing the pair inside of the big motorcycle that had come up the drive, and were watching carefully before easing down the steps to take a look at, and then kill the interlopers. They never got a chance. Coat flying out behind, Faith brought the bike straight in, slid around the driveway circle until the front wheel was aimed at the stairs, and roared up the steps between them, their shots hitting the walk behind her. She gave it gas and brought the front wheel up at the top, just before the double doors, and the big bike hit and crashed the doors open and in before they could adjust their aim.

A pair of precise three round bursts caught them leaning as they were tracking her and they burned from the inside out.

The BMW came off the lower steps past the doors still on it's back wheel and sailed across the large entry way, Faith standing on the pegs, smashing in the inner doors and dropping down as it landed in the great room beyond. Her axe came out from under her knee and through the neck of the first vampire she passed and he crumbled into rot in her wake. It passed through the neck, chest and and out through the shoulder of the next one to rush her and she crumbled as well, before she let it hang from it's thong and she brought the bike around into a tight circle in the center of the large, torch lit chamber and to a halt.

Faith heard gunfire behind her, and snarling screams. She put down the stand, killed the bike, and swung her leg over the saddle, bringing the axe back up in her hand and striding forward. She thumbed a UV-grenade to life with her left hand and tossed it to her right, following it with another to her left and ahead of her. A third went to her right and behind her. A pair of vampires came in from either side and the axe blurred as she spun and they crumbled to rot as they slid apart. Her arm came back and swept forward and the next one moving in caught the double bladed axe through the chest at fifteen feet, the thong snapping like thread from the force of the throw. He went over backwards and landed with his spine cut in half.

Her sword came out and swept in an arc that bisected another charging, near invisible vampire at neck level. She switched it to her left hand, right hand drawing the big single action and thumbing back the hammer. It came level and barked twice, and a pair of ancient looking vampires near the head of the room caught fire from the inside. They screamed as they burned and came apart. She spun and the sword slid through a pair of reaching hands and the neck behind them and as she came facing around again she was stalking forward.

The UV-grenades went off then, one after the other, and things fell out of the shadowy places at the sides of the room and burned, shrieking...

The submachine gun went off to her rear from the doors leading in in precise three round bursts. She never bothered to look around at the things that burned before they reached her back. There were other sounds of gunfire from outside the mansion, and she ignored those as well, her eyes riveted on the small group of figures around the large ornate chair at the end of the room and the elegant looking vampire starting to rise up from it, his mouth gaping open in shock and a look of outrage on his features.

The big handgun spoke four more times, and two of the figures by the chair caught and burned, followed by two more that rushed towards her from one side. More submachinegun fire followed her, searching the torch lit shadows around the room. She slid the handgun back into its holster and moved forward again.

Faith came to a halt twelve feet in front of the ornate chair and the velvet clad figure still frozen half standing at it. Green flame crackled around her right hand and one of the Valdris blades came into it. "Well, if it isn't the vampire formerly known as 'Santos' but who's name is now an unpronounceable symbol." She snickered. Dark skin, long curly black hair, small mustache and clad in velvet and silk - the self-styled 'Prince' of Philadelphia was damned near a spitting image of the rock star. Only with fangs, and glowing eyes. "We're about to have words."

"You... " The vampire Prince seemed to be at a loss for an epithet foul enough. He gestured to one of the vampires standing beside him. "Kill her," he said, seating himself again. There was more gunfire from outside, closer now. One of the others by the.. throne.. glanced in that direction, frowning.

The taller, ancient, gnarled looking thing to the right of Santos raised his hand, crooking his fingers at her with a look of concentration and a smirk. A sickly glow built up around his crooked fingers. Faith brought the Valdris blade up instinctively in a futile attempt to block.

Green flames crackled around the curving double headed hellblade, and the smirk went away. Nothing else happened.

"Huh." Faith looked at her souvenir from the Pit and frowned, then looked back up at him from under a dark wing of hair. "Whattaya know?" She smiled malevolently, and her left arm blurred suddenly. The Darksoul sword buried itself through its length up to the guard into Santos' upper chest and through his chair and the wall behind it. Green fires crackled and the other Valdris blade came into her left hand.

"Guess you're going to have to do this the old fashioned way, huh?" Faith lifted an eyebrow at the vampire mage or whatever he was and gave him a mocking grin. Santos worked futilely at the grip of the blade pinning him to his seat, snarling and cursing.

UV-grenades went off on the balcony overlooking the room, followed by gunfire, and there were more screams. A long burst of submachinegun fire bracketed the vampire to Santo's left as he moved towards her and what fell at her feet was burning rot.

"Another time, human." The one who'd tried to spell her began gesturing again. A burst from O'Brien's submachinegun caught him and the air around him rippled, the bullets apparently having no effect.

"Oh no, you don't." Faith stepped in and hurled her right hand blade spinning like an overlong shuriken at him, leaning forward with the follow through. It hit whatever rippling effect had stopped the burst of gunfire and passed though without slowing. One gleaming, wickedly curved edge passed through the vampiric mage and he slid one half from another as the hellblade buried itself into the wall behind him. "You're not going nowhere, asshole."

Faith straightened, glancing around. Santos suddenly stilled in his chair, no longer struggling against the sword and glared at her, hissing. Everything had gone suddenly still and there was no movement to be seen except for the flickering flame of torches and candles. After a short while, O'Brien came up beside her. Moments later, a voice drifted down from the balcony to their left...

"Damn, girl." Gunn leaned heavily on the balcony rail, sword in one hand, and holding pressure to a bleeding shoulder with the other. "We almost didn't catch up in time for the party."

Faith and O'Brien glanced up, and shrugged. "Sorry, didn't know you were following." Footfalls from the other balcony drew three sets of eyes, and Frank Giambione came into view up top, breathing heavily. O'Brien took the gun muzzle off line and nodded to him, receiving a return nod.

Four pairs of eyes riveted the vampire prince, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat. Faith walked up and put a foot on the edge of the seat between his legs, sticking a cigar in the corner of her mouth. She gave him a long scrutiny as if she were examining something foul she'd found clinging to the sole of her boot, then lit the cigar and put the lighter away.

"Faith. Slayer." Dark eyes pinned him in place and he looked away. She put the tip of the Valdris to his chin and brought his head back around to meet her eyes again. "Don't look away from me when I'm talking."

"What do you want, Slayer?" She could see white all around his eyes.

"What... no threats? No bluster about how 'I can't possibly'? No talk about how the 'Rules' are supposed to go?" Something ancient and terrible looked out of her eyes and into his, something without an ounce of passion or mercy to it. "What do I want... let me think." Faith smiled slowly. She leaned in on the blade until a line of blood welled up around the edge and trickled down from it. "What I want, vampire, is to kill you. You can't believe how _badly_ I want to kill you right now." She leaned closer over the blade, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. "You can't believe how _slowly_ I want to kill you. I could take days at it."

Faith leaned back slightly, not moving the edge from his throat, watching the slow trickle of blood with fascination. "Spike you to the wall over there. Slice the flesh from your arms and legs, and watch it start to grow back. Feed you enough blood to keep you alive... Then stake you out on the roof and watch as the sun comes up and you burn to death, screaming." Her hand was tight on the grip of the double blade and her voice was shaking.

The blade came away from his throat and she put her hand on the grip of the sword through his upper chest. She stepped back and yanked the sword free and he gasped. "But I don't do that any more." She stepped down and walked over to stand beside O'Brien, and turned her eyes back upon him.

"Kay-oh. So, we do it different." That golden light was still in her eyes, and Santos wasn't sure he really believed that killing him slowly was off the table... "Think I've pieced a lot of this together. You contracted for Elora to eliminate the Draaken here after the Daywalker's people almost killed them out?"

"Yes." Santos' voice was quiet. Faith searched his eyes, and his body language, looking for signs of deception. She didn't see any, and nodded.

"Right. So as a side note, when someone spotted me in town, you gave her a secondary contract to kill or turn me as well."

"No."

"No?" Faith pushed her hair back with one hand and lowered her head, gazing at him from under her eyebrows.

"No. The various Kindrel lords avoid bringing us to the attention of the Slayer. Your kind generally doesn't notice us, and we prefer it that way - especially now that there's many of you. Sending an assassin after one of you, especially after a senior slayer, would be idiotic." His voice was wry, and he shrugged with one shoulder. Faith thought that was rather impressive, although she'd never say so. "I am many things these few hundred years, but an idiot is not one of them."

"Who did, then?"

That liquid one-shouldered shrug again, "Haven't the foggiest. Some outlier or renegade, perhaps? One of the Elders? Although... they would merely hunt you themselves if they saw you as a threat, not send an assassin. Someone you've annoyed in the past? Unusual for an assassin to work outside the Clans - but Elora has always been an outlier." Santos glanced around the shambles of his court and gave a wry slight smile, "You'll forgive me if I find I really don't care who paid her and I'm merely saddened that she didn't kill you ere now."

snort Faith swallowed a soft, harsh laugh. _'I'll bet you are,'_ she thought.

"All right," Faith too a step forward and looked down at him. "I've met your assassin four times now. I'm still here. The next time I meet her will be the last, and I'll still be here after." Faith glanced around the large room, then riveted his eyes again. "All of your clan lords that were gathered here are dust, and all of your court. Your power is gone. Word will spread that the Dark Slayer paid a visit to your lair, pinned you to your seat and killed everything that moved... and walked back out. You'll never command respect in any vampire circles again, anywhere."

She watched while he digested that and it sank in, and he met her eyes again and nodded slowly. "By this time tomorrow night, be out of this city. I check, I don't want to find out that you're not. If I do... there won't be a Kindrel living in a four state area by the time I'm finished. We level?"

"yes" The Prince's voice was a quiet whisper.

"Didn't hear that." Faith cocked her head slightly, her face expressionless.

"Yes. There's no need to make additional threats." His voice was slightly louder, but still a whisper. "I'll be on my way far from here before then with what few retainers I might have left."

"Good." Faith nodded. "Put the word out as you're leaving: The Thing The Darkness Fears is pissed. This is a vampire free city from here on in. Any of your kind that stay, die." She smiled slowly. "Don't worry about your competitors. They're getting the word even as we speak." She paused, regarding him, "And you really _don't_ want to feed or kill before you're far, far away... Avoid killing or feeding on humans, even then. Or else."

"I understand." He nodded, slumping into his seat and holding his neck.

"Gunn?" Faith looked up to where the black lawyer was still leaning.

"Yo."

"Did you bring any of those incendiary charges Nightstalker passed out?"

"Yeah. Pocketful of them." Gunn had to be in a lot of pain judging by the way he was leaning, but his voice was still strong.

"Good. Pass some to Frank up there and set them around the mansion. Torch it as we leave."

"Faith?" She looked up to where Giambione was, her eyes dull. "There's a room full of human types on the ground floor in back, and another on the ground floor. They weren't armed, so I locked them back in and moved on." She shook her head and her eyes met O'Brien's, both of them with sick expressions.

"Are they Familiars?"

"No." The response came from Santos, not from Giambione, and she looked at him. "If they're in here alive," he waved a hand towards the balconies, "Then all of my familiars and ghouls are either dead or they ran away. Those people are subjects - cattle. They're innocents."

Faith gave him a bleak look, then closed her eyes. "Christ." She opened her eyes again. "Can you and Gunn get them out? We'll call an ambulance when we leave this place." She looked up at Gunn. "Throw the charges down. O'Brien and I'll place and set them."

"Right." She heard Gunn groan slightly as he worked his jacket off, then a moment or so later it hit the floor with a soft sound. O'Brien went to pick it up and she heard Gunn move around the balcony toward Giambione.

Faith closed her eyes again and the Valdris blade went back to wherever it came from. She sheathed the sword under her coat and went over and pulled the other blade from the wall and sent it away. She looked at the former vampire prince. "Go help them before you leave. Your... slaves might respond better to you telling them to leave than to strangers." She locked eyes with him as he stood up slowly, nodding. "If you have any thoughts of killing Gunn or Frank... "

"Slayer," he gave her a bleak look. "I don't want to see my people burned alive. And I'm not stupid enough to give you reason to come after me. I'll do this, and then I'll be on my way out of the city before daylight."

She looked at him hard, then nodded, and went to gather up her spent UV-grenades and axe, and help O'Brien set the charges. He glanced over at her as they started, "You weren't watching your back much, back there."

"Knew I had you to watch it for me, Five-oh." Faith shrugged. "I didn't have to worry about anything except what was in front."

**...**

The mansion was starting to burn behind them as they went out the gates. Santos had been true to his word, helping Gunn and Giambione to herd the drained, terrorized human cattle out the doors before disappearing into the night. Faith pulled the bike up at the street, vaguely amazed it hadn't taken more damage from its impact with the two sets of doors. If she ever got a chance, she'd have to ask Willow if the red headed witch had given it any helpful additives while she wasn't watching...

O'Brien was driving the big, armored Wolfram and Hart Mercedes as they slowed to a stop next to her. Gunn's shoulder had been patched, and he sat in the back with his head leaned back against the seat rest, Frank riding shotgun. The older cop rolled down the window on his side, looking over.

"Let's meet up with the others and go finish this," Faith suggested. "Then we can hole up after daylight, rest, and get ready to start mopping up tomorrow night."

O'Brien nodded. "You think they'll clear out after?"

"Like I suggested?" Faith shrugged. "If they don't, then things'll get kinda bloody for awhile." She looked over her shoulder at the flames rising higher from the old mansion. The sound of an ambulance siren came from the distance, still a long way off. "They'd best. I tend to follow through when I give my word."

The tiny convoy moved out in the direction of the abandoned Bolton estate and flames lit the sky behind them.

**...**

"Well... it sure ain't stopping the Pits of Hell, but that don't mean it wasn't fun," Vince looked around the shambles of what used to be a Draaken high court. Piles of ash lay everywhere, and the bodies of the occasional Familiar. Flames roared from what used to be one of Philadelphia's major historical landmarks.

Blade snorted and looked pointedly at the demon mobster's bleeding shoulder and the inhuman blood leaking from his leg. "Maybe a bit too fun?" Blade's lip curled slightly in a faint smile.

"Nah. I've gotten worse than this closing down a business rival. These people are amateurs." Vince took a short step and winced. "Ok, maybe a _bit_ too much fun. Forgot how much a 12ga slug in the leg hurt. Bastard." He spit on a pile of ash.

Blade nodded, looking around. There was still sporadic gunfire as Hannibal, Winchester, and Faith's cops wandered through finishing off small pockets of resistance and the odd Familiar. "Hope the girl didn't get herself dead."

"She won't." Vince stated, giving Blade a hard look.

Blade lifted a hand and lowered his shades just a hair and gave the demon a slight eyebrow raise over them. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah. Been thinking." Vince nodded, ignoring Blade's look. "Mood she was probably in, I'm thinking there's more danger of the Dark Slayer taking over again and her losing it than of her making mistakes and gettin' dead." He shook his head, "I'm more worried about wether or not she's still human."

"Sounds like a funny concern coming from a demon," Blade said, softly.

"Ain't it just?" Vince made an odd sound in his throat. "Don't know if you heard anything about her the last time she went dark. It was all over the demon communities: when a _Slayer_ goes bad, it makes ripples. Big ones." He shook his head, "Took the Summers girl to take her down last time, and Angelus to bring her back from it. Faith's gotten a lot bigger since then... not sure what it'd take now."

"No need." Vince gave him a sharp look. "She's gotten big enough to stop herself now," Blade stated. He returned the look, "Doesn't mean it can't break her doing it, though."

"Yeah, well... " Vince tested his leg and found it had healed enough to take his weight. "Let's finish up and move out before half the Familiar cops in Philly show up to express their displeasure, huh?"


	25. Chapter 25: Should've, would've

**Chapter 25: **_**"Should've, would've, hadn't of..."**_

(Day 13; _December 17, 2003; Eastern State Penitentiary, Fairmount Avenue between 21st and 22nd Streets, 1:42am_)

On a clear night... you can't quite see forever, not from the top of the central guard tower in the old abandoned prison. And the night was anything but clear, Faith reflected.

Still, you could see far enough. Especially if you weren't quite using your eyes. Even with the broken clouds and the city haze, the partial moon gave off enough light for slayer vision to penetrate even the deeper areas of shadow inside the walls of the old penitentiary. Faith closed hers, relying on other senses than slayer vision...

It was like having a third eye open up inside of her. Balanced lightly on the balls of her feet on the very peak of the old stone and steel guard tower, the light breeze furling the long coat behind her like a cape, she sent her awareness deep into herself. She could almost hear Master Caine's voice in the background of her mind, walking her through the familiar meditation drills. Deep, slow breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Sink deep within to that still small place inside... Where there's pain, embrace it. Where there's hate... accept it. Where there's rage... pass through it. Where there's fear... feel it. Where there's darkness... pass through it. It's yours - it is you: let it flow, flow through it. It flows out with every breath... and you sink through it to the center.

Center. _Centered_. That still, quiet place behind the navel where there's emotion that doesn't touch, feeling that isn't felt, sounds that aren't heard, sight that's not seen. The place where the frozen moment lives, where time slows and awareness expands. She could reach but not hold it; never hold it for long. Always too hyper, even on the inside to hang onto peace and stillness for very long. No matter - can hold it long enough for now. She expanded her inner sense outwards from that center and looked with more than sight over the surrounding area.

She'd never been able to do this before, it was something she'd only recently discovered in herself after The Pits, and never had had time to really experiment with it. It was like the slayer sense that allowed one to feel the vampiric or demonic essence in things, only extended and clearer. Something the Pit had awoken in her? Or the prolonged Orpheus and magic aided exposure to the Dreamways? Or yet another manifestation of slayer abilities that only developed as a slayer became older and slowly grew into herself? Wesley had no answers fo her: very few slayers had ever survived as long as her and B had. Little was known about how a slayer developed if they made it past the 'normal' two to three year maximum. She wondered if Buffy had begun to discover these things within herself, or if it was only her. Probably never have a chance to ask now, not after their last abrasive conversation - no matter, let it go...

Her range wasn't far, but within it... she could sense the presence of the people around her like ripples. O'Brien, Gunn, Dean, and O'Brien's people as small ripples. Blade as a large one, darkness shot through with gold, as though someone had dropped a big rock into the pool. King and Christine as larger ripples as well, but smaller than Blade's. Christine's was hazy and undefined as though something were attempting to block her presence from awareness. As indeed, something was... Dark spots tinged with light marking Vince and his people. Splashes that were darker still far out at the edges of her awareness marking hunting vampires and the occasional demon - the hunger attached to the ripple sense proclaiming them for what they were. And one other... one similar to what she'd seen of herself once through Caine's inner sense: a swirl of darkness and light and power, evenly and yet uncertainly mixed. This one was hazy as well, like Christine's.

* * *

_"Yeah, I know: you're not a combatant." Faith nodded. "No worries, Angela - do this, then get yourself clear. Stay indoors and warded. And thanks for meeting us here." Angela Basset nodded back, sighing heavily._

_"The least I can do. You and yours are fighting for this place, after all. It would be a betrayal of the Invoked Spirit to not attempt to assist, even if only in small ways." The healer looked over the small group, "You merely wish an Avoidance, as I used to visit your friends in the hospital?"_

_"Yeah. Two of them, if you can." Faith said. "How long will they last?"_

_"For two people?" The healer considered for a moment. "As long as I am conscious, then until I release it. Or until something is done that draws attention to the person wearing the Avoidance, thereby breaking it." She drew a powerstone from a small pouch at her waist, concentrating for several long minutes, then looked up, nodding._

_"That's it?" Faith asked._

_"All there is," Angela smiled. "As I said before, it is concentration and a focusing of energies through Power and Will, not Ritual."_

_"Yeah, I remember," Faith nodded. "Just that I keep expecting magic to need lots of time, chanting, and all sorts of ritualistic shit."_

_The healer nodded. "On occasion, and for some types. Well... if that is all, I'll be taking my leave then. Do remember to stop by when all is done so that we can settle up." Without a backward glance, she turned and made her way back to her vehicle._

_"Wicked." Faith gathered up her two companions with her eyes. "Let's get 'er done, then, shall we?"_

* * *

The place _was_ haunted, she realized. Not just rumours in the paranormal communities: she could sense other presences in and around the ancient prison, wispy and insubstantial. Oh well... as long as they kept to themselves tonight, no makey. She had enough on her plate right now without ghost hunting.

* * *

_"Well, would you get a load of this?" Gunn's voice came over the ear piece, sounding like a kid that just unexpectedly discovered a candy store. "Hey - you guys come up here. Main administration level in the old gatehouse."_

_Vince had sworn the small headphone radios were untraceable, unjammable, and the encryption on them was unbreakable through most means when he'd handed them out earlier. When she'd asked if they were magic, he hadn't answered, merely shrugged and gave her that fey, toothy grin of his. Oh well. If they worked, cool. If they didn't.. it wouldn't matter, really. Not for this._

_"What is it?" She'd beat the rest of them there by moments, looking around once inside the doorway. Monitors and control equipment everywhere, and microphones.  
__  
"Not sure, exactly, but it's got power still. I think it's controls for some sort of main monitoring station... but the labels are a bit odd." Gunn's fingers hovered over the console as he examined it._

_"Control center for the Terror Behind the Walls Halloween stuff, and the historical tours and exhibits." O'Brien's voice came from the doorway. "Lights, special effects, you name it."_

_"Really?" Gunn's voice was delighted. "Cool... you mean they leave this stuff up all year? Figured they'd take it down after tourist season." He found the button he was looking for and lights and monitors came on as various systems booted up._

_"They used to. Then they redesigned the Halloween haunted tour stuff so it was seperate from the historical displays, and made it permanent," Hogan stated._

_"I've seen that evil look before, once, Gunn. What you got in mind?" Faith cocked her head._

_"Hey - we got no idea how many guests our Elora bitch is going to bring with, if any, right?" Gunn grinned. "Assuming she comes in when you do your thang at all. So... if we need it, I think we got us an equalizer and a distraction right here."_

_"Ready made spook show for the spooks, huh? You're an evil man, Mr. Gunn," Giambione said in an approving tone. "Is there power to everything?"_

_"Hrrm... " Gunn puzzled at the displays. "Seems to be. It can even control the automation." He glanced around, "And all of the cameras seem to be able to be tied in here."_

_"Cool." Faith looked around the room, nodding. "And a heavy steel door with a massive lock that can hold from the inside... Looks like you found yourself a job, Gunn." She smirked._

_Gunn looked at her curiously, then made a face as her meaning sank in. "Crap. You mean you want me to lock myself in the control room here?"_

_"Hey, finders keepers an' all." That half grin slid over her lips. "Give you something to do that won't aggravate that shoulder. Angel will never forgive me if you get dead."_

* * *

A bit over five hours to dawn yet. Plenty of time for this. Perfect place for it too, she thought, in far too many ways. This place bore little resemblance to the Women's Maximum Security facility at Stockton. That was its only saving grace... the only thing that made it even remotely possible for her to set foot inside those forbidding walls. She could feel the claustrophobic weight of them pressing in on her, the steel of the bars crushing inwards, from the moment she stepped through the front gates. Could hear the clang and slam and cacophony of hundreds of voices and televisions and radios and shouts and catcalls that were the almost constant background noise of prison life. Hanging on to the fact that she was slayer, and she could leave any time she wanted to, really - the only reason she was in was because she wanted to be. Needed to be. Funny... she hadn't felt much like a slayer inside, walking into Stockton. She'd felt like a little girl...

* * *

_'So that's what Gothic horror looks like,' she thought, gazing upon the stone walls, high towers, and __imposing gatehouse. 'They just don't make prisons like this any more. Thank gods.' Hogan had done something to make sure all the security and whatever night personnel the place had would be gone by the time they pulled up and walked over from where they left the vehicles. He didn't say what - forged warrant, police request, sheer effrontery and bullshit - and she hadn't asked. And all thought of asking fled from her mind when she came to a sudden stop before that gatehouse, frozen and swallowing hard._

_'I'm a Slayer. I can do this.' But she didn't take a single step beyond that point. Couldn't. Frozen in place._

_Eastern State didn't look like a modern prison. It looked like something out of the dark ages, or from one of the film noir movies she'd always loved, like she used to watch on that tiny TV back in that crappy room back in Sunnydale. Hell... might be out of. She seemed to recall that this place had shown up in more'n a few films over the years. Some bit of trivia from some place._

_"You all right?" A hand clasped her by the shoulder, warm and reassuring. Yanking her back from a downward spiral of memories and despair that she suddenly realized had almost swallowed her. She looked up to see O'Brien watching her with concern in those tired eyes. Felt the connection that had grown between them like an electric current - the connection that shouldn't be there: should have shattered like glass after the only real contribution she'd made to his life was causing him to kill his lady. Should have... and hadn't._

_"No." Faith closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her shiver had nothing to do with the December cold. Grabbed that hand and squeezed, careful that slayer strength didn't crush that fragile lifeline. Opened them again. Took a step forward. "But I will be. Five-by-five, right?"_

_Just walls. Just stone. Just memories. Just ghosts. Nothing to worry about._

_One step at a time, Faith. Put all that stuff on hold. Infinity hold. Get 'er done. She gave him a shaky grin that felt like a rictus, and took another step forward. "See? Nuthin' to it, right?"_

* * *

Let it go, let it flow. Gone. And screw it. Time to end this part of the dance.

She could feel deep within herself the connection to the Valdris blades, gossamer thin and strong as cable. She reached for it, drew on it, and drew them to herself from whatever non-place they went to when they went away. Green flames crackled around her fists and they came from not-there to here-and-now like eager hounds, or a falcon to the glove. She arched her back, raised hands and blades over her head, wrists crossed and back of the hands outwards in a challenge so ancient she couldn't begin to explain even to herself where it came from.

And then she drew upon the slayer essence and everything she was, everything she'd felt, and everything that was inside herself; drew her aspect about her like a cloak, focused it through the essence of those hell-forged, soul bonded blades, poured the power of the slayer essence into it and sent it outwards into the night like a wordless shout.

_Slayer__. The Thing That Hunts claims this place and everything within it. __Mine__. Under my protection. Begone... or come and challenge for it._ All across the city, lesser predators became very still and very quiet.

Somewhere, far out beyond the edges of her perceptions, she felt an answer.

Wicked. Come get some, baby. The inner stillness broke and she surfaced from within it as though from deep waters. A half grin slid across her lips and she sent the dark blades to wherever they waited between callings.

_'I'm waiting, bitch. Let's dance.'_

**...**

She came over the wall, silent, and nearly invisibly fast, stopping in the center of the walkway leading to the roof of the rotunda. Faith watched lazily as she froze in place, statue still. She could almost feel the blonde vampire extending her senses in all directions. Faith grinned and stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

"Over here, Blondie."

There was an almost invisible blur of movement that Faith was only able to track with slayer eyes, and Elora was standing below her and fifteen feet away. The blonde looked up at Faith leaning against the rail on the small ledge of the central tower like an indolent gargoyle and smiled, beginning to take a step forward. "Slayer."

"Ah." Faith raised the big Keith single action, thumbing back the hammer. "Close enough for now." The blonde shook her head, smiling, and Faith lowered the muzzle until it was pointed at her. "Wouldn't. I'm fast enough to track and hit you. And what's in here won't even leave ashes."

Elora cocked her head and looked up at her. Faith had picked the best spot available: against the railing of the main tower where nothing could approach from behind or to the side, and almost twenty feet off of the roof where not even Elora could climb to her before the heavy handgun picked her off. "It seems we've been here before, only reversed. I believe the phrase I'm searching for is 'Come on down and join the dance'." She made an inviting motion with her arm, a mocking expression on her face.

"All in good time," Faith said, looking her over. "We're on my time table, not yours." Elora appeared to be as fully healed from their last encounter as Faith was, although she had noticed that her movements didn't seem as fast as they had at the beginning of the parking lot fight.

"That could be amenable to change," Elora glanced to the edge of the rooftop, then back up to Faith's position. The cha-clack sound of a pump shotgun from behind her and some slight distance away cut across her words. She turned lazily to see Detective Christine Meadows standing easily off to one side of the closed rooftop door holding a 12 gauge, one of the MP5's hanging from its sling across her chest. Elora stiffened slightly as her senses registered the slayer essence coming off of the other woman.

"You a gamblin' type of gal?" Faith's voice was amused. "Bet you don't make six steps."

There was a sound of an automatic weapon firing in precise three round bursts from the courtyard. A shotgun's heavier thump joined it a moment later. Faith could picture Gunn gleefully calling out targets for the others from his position in the control room.

"You seem to have a penchant for not working alone," the blonde vampiress remarked. "Surprising, given your history."

"Door doesn't lock. She's here to make certain nothing comes up those stairs that isn't supposed to. Stopping you from leaving is a side benefit." Shrug. "And the rest're down there to make sure your minions don't crash the party while they're busy being taken out."

"sigh And good minions are so hard to find. Even if they are street Kindrel," the blonde mused. "They're not here to interfere. Merely to make sure that you don't leave before our business is concluded."

Faith grinned. "Great minds think alike. So do ours." She gave the blonde a hard look, "I'm regretting now that I spent so much time making sure I was up to one hundred percent. How many people you drink to get you back up to health?"

"Only one. Your policeman's lady friend." Elora met Faith's flatly disbelieving look without flinching. "There's a great deal about our kind that you're as yet unaware of. I gave up feeding on humans three centuries ago, mostly."

"Your word on that, I suppose." Faith's words were as mocking as her voice wasn't.

"Of course." Elora answered the tone, not the words.

"Then... ?" Faith made a gesture encompassing the other's restored form.

Elora gave her a considering look. "I am an assassin of my kind, a dealer of Death. I hunt and feed only upon those of my kind, except to create childer, as do others of my kind. And occasionally upon the Childer of Dagon, when they foolishly draw my attentions." If she was aware of the second slayer's eyes boring holes in her back, it didn't show.

"And Kaineron?" Faith's voice was curious. Even with her slayer senses at full extension, she wasn't detecting a lie behind the embraced slayer's words.

"The demonic essence causes those to taste foul," a revulsed expression crossed the blonde's face. "Those, I merely kill."

"So I've heard," A slight smile tugged at Faith's lips. At the blonde's eyebrow lift, she added, "Something that Spike said once."

"Ah. Your Souled Kaineron," the other nodded.

"Not mine. B's." Faith laughed. "I -"

"I know. You don't fuck corpses, merely kill them," Elora said and Faith laughed.

"Yeah, something like," she agreed. "There was a time, once, when the darkness almost swallowed me and I almost became the slayer essence... but it didn't happen."

"That was what drew me to you, you know," she remarked. Faith raised an eyebrow. "Your time in the Dark. There have been other Slayers between us who turned dark... but none who embraced it as fully as you did."

"I was sick. I got better." Faith replied, her tone flat and uncompromising.

"I know," Elora said simply. "And that was attractive as well. Not many can turn away from the Dark once it is embraced."

"As you couldn't?" Faith's voice was soft.

"Perhaps." Elora smiled. "Attempting to redeem me, Slayer?"

"Naw." Faith shook her head. "Too late for that, and I wouldn't if I could. Kendra was right and I think you know it: it wasn't my darkness that attracted you, it was the turning away. You came after me looking for an ending, as I once did with Angel." She paused, "I'm trying to understand."

"Kendra... " Elora's eyes widened slightly. "The dream... ?"

Faith nodded, "Yup. S'all about the dreams, not the blood." She cocked her head, "Angel did me a favor: he knew that what I was looking for wasn't death, it was life. I'm going to do you one."

The blonde gave her a curious look, "Give me life? Too late for that."

"No. An ending. And an escape."

"Pay forward Angelus' gift of Life with a gift of Death," a delighted look crossed the blonde's face. "There's a warpedness to that that's appealing."

"Isn't there just?" Faith laughed and Elora joined in after a moment. Faith's eyes went cold, suddenly. "You should've taken my offer. And I'm glad you didn't."

"So, you're going to shoot me dead?" Elora gave the handgun an amused look.

"Naw. Not me," Faith straightened on the small ledge, standing easily and looking down. She lowered the hammer on the single action. "Gonna end this," Faith remarked, spinning the revolver into its holster. She looked down, coldly, bonelessly relaxed and suddenly looking ancient and deadly. "Way past time to end this, I think."

"Yes," Elora nodded. She took three long steps backwards. "You do realize that you're not a match for me? If we hadn't been interrupted in that parking lot, you would have been mine."

"Should've, would've, hadn't of, didn't." Faith drew her aspect about her and the slayer essence came completely to the surface. Her eyes flashed gold for a moment, and the wickedly curved Valdris blades came into her hands with a crackling flare of green flame. She regarded the slayer-vampiress for a moment... "I took these from the corpse of a General of Hell not too long ago, a full Hellspawn, after I cut him in half. As far as Big Bads go... "

Faith crouched suddenly and then her legs straightened and she arched up and forward, somersaulting to land lightly in a crouch on the rooftop walkway below, "You don't rate." She straightened, stepping forward.

Whatever Elora was going to respond with as she stepped forward as well, cut off abruptly with a startled expression that turned suddenly to shock. She looked down at the sharp tenting to the front of her bodysuit, then up at Faith with a betrayed expression. Moments later she began to burn from the inside out as the UV head of the arrow ignited her heart and her insides...

Faith ambled up to her lazily as she burned, holding her eyes. "Told you once: there ain't no Rules to this game." She thought she registered amusement in the green eyes just before the flames took them and ashes tumbled down along with the UV arrow. She lifted her head and nodded across the yard as Abby raised a clenched fist to her from her perch atop of one of the guard towers along the side of the prison wall, the second avoidance spell broken when she took the bow shot.

Faith looked down at the ashes again, sadly. "And I don't play fair. You really _should_ have taken my offer."

"Are all vampires stupid?" Christine asked, a satisfied expression on her face. It didn't put paid for Nikki or the other people dead, nothing could... but at least the blonde wouldn't be killing anyone else. She reached into her shoulder bag and took out a carved wooden box, and walking over, began helping Faith to scoop Elora's ashes out of the snow and into it before the winds came up and took them.

"Not stupid." Faith shook her head. "Just arrogant. Has the same effect, sometimes... I should know."

"Do you need me to help finishing this?" Christine asked. "If not... I should go down and help O'Brien and the others."

"No... " Faith started to shake her head, and paused. A strange expression passed over her face and her eyes went distant. She put her hand to her temple, swaying slightly. "No... " She swayed, then slowly fell forward. Christine caught her before she fell into the snow and ashes, her eyes open and unseeing...

**...**

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ Yes, __Eastern State Penitentiary__ is a __real place__, and it is located in Philadelphia. It also really is host to a number of historical tours, as well as the __Terror Behind the Walls__ haunted houses tours. Supposedly, it's also really haunted as well. The layout is more or less as I described, as you can tell from the small map on the main site. Have no idea if there's a central control room for the historical displays and the haunted house effects in the main gatehouse where the administrative offices were, as I described, but it wouldn't surprise me. The Old Penn Ryan Manor and the Bolton Estate are real places also, and are also supposedly haunted. They're just kinda fire damaged in this universe now._

_I also have no idea if any of them really __are__ haunted, but it wouldn't surprise me much if they were..._

_Note also: If you check carefully back through the preceding chapters, I really __did__ leave subtle clues that Abby __didn't__ actually stay behind in Jersey when Blade and King came down. This wasn't a deux ex machina - I just didn't see a need to overtly telegraph what Faith had up her sleeve or what she was setting up during those phone calls... Don't worry: all will come clear later. ;)_


	26. Chapter 26: I can contain even you

_**Chapter 26: "I can contain even you... "**_

_Dizziness, and a sharp pain lancing through her temples. Screaming in her ears... no, not in her ears. A pressure on her mind, forcing it inwards to collapse in on itself. Something not-mind attempting to get in, from elsewhere..._

_A cemetary at night, natch - when the hell else are you gonna find a Slayer in a graveyard? This one seems to stretch on for miles and miles, dead trees, shadowy movements, deep mist, and low lying fog wreathing the ground. There's headstones in haphazard rows stretching off into the limited visibility, and she can barely make out the forms of crypts off in the distance. Haphazard? Heh. S'a dream, folks. Guess the caretakers just ain't that careful in the dreamways._

_Faith shook her head. Something familiar about all this. Been here before... huh. No music. Music? Why... ? Oh. Yeah. Slayer dream: dancing in the dark with Kendra, right._

_Waitamminit. Wasn't she just up on the rooftop watching Elora burn? Or was that the dream, and this dismal graveyard the reality?_

_No. Not the dream. This was, dammit. She hasn't been stuck in the Sea of Dreams ever since. Fuck you - there were too many memories, real ones, between the last time she was here, and now. 'Been spending way too much time in the dreamways lately, gal. You're startin' to lose track of the difference.' Faith snorted and nodded decisively. Ok... thataway. She set off towards the center of the cemetary and the ancient crypt within. 'Might as well see what the Dream Gawds have in mind for me now. Then work my way the fuck out of here and back to what we laughingly call Reality.'_

**...**

_'Shit! What the... ?'_ Abby's eyes widened as she broke off from searching the prison yard below for targets. The blonde cop's - what was her name? - wordless shout drew her attention back to the rooftop near the rotunda and the base of the central tower. The older woman was bending over.. something on the rooftop walkway, a spill of long dark hair, legs akimbo...

"Shit." It came out out loud, this time. A movement below caught her eye and she tracked on it, drawing the bow and releasing almost as an afterthought. A UV-tipped arrow impacted with a lunging form and something burned below her. She never noticed - the shot had been aimed and released with slayer sense and reflexes, not eyes. Abby keyed her headset mike.

"Blade. Rooftop, near the central tower. It's Faith - go."

There was the briefest of pauses, followed by: "On it."

_'There's times I love that man's tendency to not waste words,'_ she thought. She slung the bow, took a running leap over the low rail and off the top of the guard tower, somersaulting to land on her feet in the snow covered yard below.

When she came up out of her landing crouch, she was already moving, heading inward towards the wall beneath the central tower and rotunda roof. Shadowy forms moved to intercept, eyes and teeth gleaming.

They didn't make the cut. She was long gone by the time their headless bodies crumbled into rot...

**...**

_She comes over a small rise and there's a break in the fog and mist, and through it she sees a mausoleum in a small clearing, surrounded by headstones and mist. No boombox this time. No dark, slender girl with laughing eyes and beaded hair and a lilting voice. Just empty space and clear ground..._

_"Boo!" The voice behind her ear sent Faith into a long reflexive leap towards the crypt, landing lightly and poised as she turned._

_Elora grinned from just behind where Faith had been standing, "Surprise."_

_"Huh." Faith's eyes narrowed. "Fancy meeting you here again."_

_"As you said, there are no Rules to this Game," the blonde vampiress inclined her head, mockingly. "Shall we continue our Dance?"_

_"Dance is done. You're dust in the wind, vampire." Faith straightened, eyes narrowed. She prowled cautiously toward the blonde._

_"As I said: there's a great deal you are not yet aware of about my kind," Elora gave her a mocking smile. "A pity the discoveries shall do you no good."_

_"You mean I won't get to help G-man update the Watcher's Codex? Damn. And I live for that." Faith snorted. "So... what? You have the vampiric mojo to fuck with my head after death? You'll have to stand in line - there's a lot of bodies ahead of you." She flowed into a balanced stance in front of the blonde woman._

_"More than merely 'fuck with', child." Elora prowled in a slow circle around her, Faith turning with her. "Remember when I stated that I feed on those of my own kind? I neglected to mention that when I drain an Elder of our kind, one closer to the Primogens, I gain their powers as well as their essence."_

_"Powers, huh?" Faith's eyes narrowed again. "Power to become a ghost in my head after I've killed you?" She snorted, "Like I said: join the crowd."_

_"Not a ghost. And not your head, when we're done." The smile became mocking again, and tinged with a slight sadness. "If not my Childer... then you'll be mine in a different way. My body, my head, and you the ghost in me."_

_Faith felt that lancing pain in her temples again, doubling her over. Ghostly fingers seemed to stroke her mind, gently at first, then insistent. Seeking out the cracks and the fracture lines in the psyche she'd carefully rebuilt over the years..._

_"No!" The denial came out less forcefully than she'd intended. She wasn't certain if she'd shouted out loud, or only in her mind.  
__  
"Yes... "_

* * *

_She was back in that filthy abandoned warehouse where they'd tracked Angelus, soon after first Angelus and then Jasmine's minion, the Beast had taken their turns beating her almost to death. Coughing up blood and scrabbling backwards in a futile attempt to back away from the Beast._

_The beast kicks her across the room into another stack of crates, and moves forward to stand over her. She hears herself whimper, hating the sound._

_"Better get up, Faithy." The thing with Angel's face says, smirking. She tries to crawl away and falls back. "Oh! Someone really should break this up."_

_"So this is a Slayer," the Beast was looking down at her with those almost human eyes, that deceptively gentle and compassionate gaze fixed on her. "I was told that the Slayer possessed great strength."_

_She spit blood at him, watching Angelus laughing behind him. Laughing at her with Angel's face. She tried to lever herself up, fell back gasping from the pain of shattered ribs. "This is all that you are?" The Beast looked down, shaking his head in disgust, "There is no power here. I had heard the slayer possessed great strength, but there's no real power here. My master's power is beyond all limits, beyond your petty imagining. You are weak. You're nothing. You cannot even defeat me." He stalked forward as she edged back shaking her head in denial, "Is this all that you are? Is this really all that you encompass?"_

_She tried to say 'No', and the words wouldn't come out. All she could so was shake her head wordlessly and try again to come to her feet and keep fighting. Try once again, and fail._

_The Beast raised its arms, preparing to strike what she knew was going to be her death blow. "Is this really all that you are?"_

_Her voice wouldn't come, and she was going to die. Die with a thing wearing Angel's face looking down at her while the Beast struck the life from a body that had no more give left to it._

* * *

_  
"no... " Her mental voice faltered, then strengthened, became firmer. "No. It's not. I'm more than that."_

_"I see," she heard Elora's voice coming as if from a long distance off. "You've already chinked those cracks. Let's examine another one... " Those ghostly fingers stroked and probed at Faith's mind again, relentlessly._

**...**

The silvered sword swept across twice, sweeping heads from bodies that were long dead and yet still moving. Blade came to rest out of the follow through, rolling his shoulders, not even breathing hard. He turned his head toward his partner with a low growl. "Can you hold things here? Faith went down."

"I heard." Hannibal King nodded, slipping a new magazine into his empty handgun and thumbing the slide release. "Go - I'll fall back to the others and continue the sweep."

He found himself talking to empty air. The big man had gone on the nod, not waiting for the rest.

"Damned girl... " King fired twice as things came out of the openings in the corridor, moving backwards as they burned. "She best not have gotten herself dead." Seeing no further movement, he turned and ran back to where he'd last seen Vince and his thugs...

**...**

_Dark fingers in her mind, probing, stirring up all of the useless crap that she'd thought she'd dealt with. Not even the First had been able to reach inside of her and twist like this. 'Course, the First had just been able to fuck with her head... it hadn't been inside of it. Darkness swept her into a maelstrom of memory, and darkness flowed up to meet her..._

* * *

_Dinner at Buffy's mom's place, not too long after she'd gotten to Sunnydale. Buffy's mom had asked her about slaying and how she felt about it, what it was like for her. Smiled and heaped more food on her plate whenever it started to run empty. Cool woman. Wish her mom had been like that, instead of a... never mind. Push it away. Noticing Faith's empty glass, Joyce asked if she'd like some more cola, getting up to head to the kitchen at Faith's smiling "You bet."_

_She grinned at Buffy, thinking things were starting to click, finally. 'She's pretty cool, huh?"_

_"Best mom ever," B replied, looking distracted. She looks into the kitchen after her mom, "Excuse me." B gets up and follows Joyce into the kitchen. Huh. Wonder what's up with her, still? Faith takes an experimental sniff of a bottle of hot sauce, and grimaces, waving her hand and setting it down hastily. Yeesh._

_She wasn't trying to listen in, really. Slayer hearing: kinda hard to tone it down, y'know? She can hear Joyce taking another bottle out of the fridge and opening it._

_"I really like this girl, Buffy," Joyce is saying, pouring soda. Wicked. She sneaks a few fries from B's plate, then a few more._

_"She's very personable." Sound of a stool scraping. "She gets along with my friends, my Watcher, my mom..." Pause, "Look - now she's getting along with my fries."_

_Crap. Oops. Faith yanks her hand back like her fingers were scalded. Snicker... guess there's a better view into the dining room than she'd thought. She grins._

_"Now Buffy... " Sound of a soda bottle closing. Joyce sounds exasperated with B._

_"Plus, at school today, she was making eyes at my not-boyfriend. This is creepy." B's saying. Sigh... was so not making eyes at that dipshit. grow the fuck up, B. Xander, now, maybe..._

_She manages to, if not dial down the hearing, at least tune out what's being said. No need to eaves drop, especially not on Miss Insecurity Trip. Gods, B... what the hell do you have to be jealous of me for? Tunes it out until something Joyce is saying catches her ear again. Something about sharing the slaying. Yup. Cool mom._

_"Unless, I mean, you heard her. She loves the slaying." Joyce is saying. "Couldn't she take over for you?"_

_Take over for... oh, ok. Got it. Thanks, 'Joyce'. Yup. Cool mom. Make nice with the new slayer, make her feel at home. Maybe she'll take over and get your kid out of the line of fire so she can like, go to college an' shit, have a life. Who gives a fuck what Faith might need, or like, right? Gotsa spare, now._

_Faith clenches her fists under the table, food turning to a lump in her stomach. Just a spare, nobody. Everyone wants what they can get out of her, Cool Mom Joyce, too. Just. Like. Everyone. In. Her. Whole. Damn. Life... Thanks, Mom._

* * *

_  
"NO!" She pushes it back, feels something recoil and the graveyard comes back into focus. Elora is picking herself up from a dozen feet away, looking startled but not displeased. "It's not like that any more!"_

_"More armor there than I thought." Elora stands easily. "Oh well, nothing that's worth having and all that. Just have to find a different chink."_

_"Chink this, bitch." Faith hands blur and suddenly her sword and the Mayor's knife is in her hands. She steps forward, a feral smile on her lips..._

_"Oh, excellent." Elora laughs, a sword and dagger of her own in her hands. Not taking a stance of her own, though, just smiling. "Thank you. That will do excellently."_

* * *

_She takes the case that she took from the Mayor's demon messenger and ducks a police car. When it moves on, she scrambles up a ladder out of sight, opening the case. Mayor Wilkins image comes onto the small screen speaking directly to her. "Hey, Boss." She reaches to touch the screen, knowing he can't hear her - he's dead dead. B and her Scoobs killed him._

_"Now, Faith, as I record this message you're sleeping. And the doctors tell me you might never wake up. I don't believe that. Sooner or later you will wake up, and when you do, you'll find the world has gone and changed on you. I wish I could make the world a better place for you to wake up in. But, tough as it is to accept, we both have to understand that even my power to protect and watch over you has it's limits. See, the hard pill to swallow is that once I'm gone, your days are just plain numbered. Now, I know, you're a smart and capable young woman in charge of her own life, but the problem, Faith, is that there won't be a place in the world for you anymore. By now I bet you're feeling very much alone. But you're never alone. You'll always have me... "_

_No place in the world for her any more. And she doesn't have Wilkins, never will, never will again. Because Buffy and her friends killed him. Killed the only person in her life that ever really gave a shit for more than just what she could do for them... The urge to scream in rage is so strong she can barely stand it._

_Scream, hell. She watches the rest of the message, holding the small device from the box in her hand. Go out with a bang, all right, Boss. But B's gonna go out with one wicked motherfucker of a bang, first._

* * *

_  
"No... " She remembers something else from that day, and it pushes the black away, just a bit. Buffy's idiot boyfriend making love to her rather than just banging her stupid like she'd tried to make him do. And standing in that church, looking at those vamps in B's body, cocking her head and thinkin': "It's not right. No."_

_She snarls and lunges in, sword and knife swinging. Elora sidesteps easily. A wordless growl comes out of Faith's chest, the Killer coming up to play._

_"Hrrm. This may be harder than I thought." The blonde cocks her head with a thoughtful expression, stepping under another flailing swing. "Let's see what else is in here... "_

**...**

The word's gone out all over the city. The Dark Slayer's on a rampage. A Kindrel Court and a Draaken Elder are dead or vanished - the Thing That Hunts and a handful of normal cops took them down, along with the Daywalker and Hannibal King. Both vampire courts on fire and burning. Vampire bars and lairs are in flames all over town, or just empty of unlife. Even now, she's sending out some sort of weird challenge for Santos' assassin bitch, using some bizarre Slayer Power that no one's ever heard of before. Some weird projection that screams through your mind and makes you feel like she's right there, about to tap you on the shoulder and give you that blazing smile... just before she takes your head. The Thing The Darkness Fears... and she's already given her word that when she's done with the assassin, she's coming after everything that's left. Her and those spooky ass cops...

The smart ones are already leaving, or packing up to do so. Even the street Kindrel and the Draaken newlings with an ounce of self preservation to them. Too many vampires remember the multi-day rampage through J-City's demon underworld and the line of dead that her and that Nightstalker bitch left in their wake. Even the ones that weren't there... the rumor mill painted a clear enough image for even the stupidest of Kaineron minions. Some of them are even having enough brains to split - and they gravitate to Hellmouths.

The ones that aren't so smart... they're heading in, looking for the source of that wave of power and challenge. Not hard to focus in on: anything that's not completely mind blind felt that wordless snarl ripple out through the city. All of them wanting a taste of slayer blood, and a piece of the Daywalker, maybe.

Word has gone out elsewhere, too. No one, but no one is going to investigate the sound of shots or the reports of gunfire from inside of Eastern State Prison tonight. Doesn't matter if it's right in the heart of the city. Word's gone out, and any cops and any firefighters that don't want to end up on graveyard shift out in the bad parts of town, alone, are ignoring calls. Donut shops, Denny's and I-Hops are doing a booming business. Lots of cops wanting to pick this particular timeframe for lunch breaks. Awful lot of cooping going on, too. Station houses are a real good place to find a cop if you need one: there's an awful lot of them sitting around doin' nothing. As for the ones with more guts or more responsibility than brains, well...

An awful lot of dispatchers are ghouls or Familiars. So are an awful lot of police and fire department brass.

Cops that don't see getting a career sidelined as the end of the world... get emergency calls that take them far away from the area of Eastern State. Others find themselves involved with major car crashes blocking ways into downtown Philly with lanes and lanes of flares and emergency vehicles.

Others find themselves in major car crashes... and things swarming suddenly over their cars from the darkess of broken streetlights. Things with teeth...

Some of them actually make it through. A pity that they find that normal firearms aren't much good against things that have already died at least once.

Elsewhere... there's other things with teeth prowling the darkness. Open season on vamps, huh? No questions asked. And open season on familiars? Wicked cool. There's a lot of things out there that love a guaranteed freebie human lunch tray, and don't really mind if it has a vamp tat on it. Who's guarantee? Haven't you heard? The Dark Slayer said there's a free pass on Familiars and ghouls. All you can munch buffet. Just watch what you eat: if it ain't got a tat, you be dead dead. No free pass on normals.

More than a few politicians and fat cats suddenly discover that there really are things under the bed...

**...**

_Nothing in there for you, bitch. But Faith can't make the words form, even in her mind. Because in her mind is where this is all happening. It's into her Self that the blonde slayer vamp is digging claws, searching deep into all of the dark places looking for cracks. Finding them..._

* * *

_There's a knock at the door. It's that Xander Scoob - all nervous and shuffling and all I-wanna-help and shit. Yeah. Right. Look, boy toy. Was a sweet ride, and maybe it was nicer than I though it'd be, but that trains done been pulled._

_"I know what this is all about. (steps closer) You just came by here," Faith runs her fingertips all around his fac and grins when he goes all sweaty trying to hide the instinctive reaction, "'cause you want another taste, don't you?" Yup. Just another guy, like any other._

_"No! I mean, it was nice. It was great. It was kind of a blur. But, okay, some day, sure, yay, but not now. Not like this." Xander's not even trying to fight it, not really. Damn - he is kinda cute when he's all nervous and sweaty._

_Faith grabs him by the head. "More like how then? Lights on or off? Kinks or vanilla?" God - she loves it when they roll their eyes like that._

_He actually jerks away, sayin': "Faith, come on. I came here to help you." Help. Right. He gives her a direct look. Never said he didn't have a pair. "I thought we had a connection."_

_Got your connection, Boy Toy. Feel it? Hands aroun' your neck? "I could do anything to you right now, and you know you want me to. I can make you scream... " She takes his lower lip between her teeth and chews on it, feeling him squirm. Gazing lovingly into his eyes. "I could make you die." When she pulls away from his lips the next time, he's choking, and the light is starting to go out. She wants the last thing he sees to be her eyes and that sensual smile on her lips. One last gift to go along with the biggest gift of all... the Gift of Death. Death is her Gift, and she gives it away to everyone she meets. Always will._

* * *

_  
"no... " She's surprised when the kick she throws connects, knocking Elora back and breaking the tendrils of dark running into her brain. She breathing like she's just run a thousand laps, hot harsh breaths, panting. She can still feel what it was like to straddle Xander and watch the light start to go out in his eyes. What it felt like to watch him die. And want him to die._

_She'll never be able to wash that feeling out of her soul. It's a part of her, always will be._

_"Yes." There's not enough of a break for her to gather herself, find anything of the tatters that are left of her center. Those green eyes are locked to hers, and those sensuous lips are pursed, head cocked in thought. "Almost. We're getting closer, Slayer."_

_"no... " Faith can't even recognize the tortured whine as her own voice. She's not even sure if she's saying the no aloud. She's not even sure if she's really saying no, any more..._

* * *

_She jumps into Wesley's lap, snickering when she hears him scream. She rubs the discolored place under his eye, cooing at him. Good toy. Nice toy. Toy not break yet. No fun when the toys stop moving. She purrs like a contented cat. "All these little cuts and bruises - they just bring out the mother in me." Mommy's little boy got all banged up and a kiss ain't gonna make it all better. She giggles. "Come on. Now, now, don't poop out on me, damn it! Otherwise this all just going to be over too fast, and you'll be dead and I'll be - bored. Come on, Wussley! Where is that stiff upper lip?" She swings her leg over him, getting off. And boy, is she getting off. Snicker. "Now, we've only done one of the five basic torture groups. We've done blunt - but that still leaves sharp, cold, hot and loud. Have a preference?" Heya, like it's always better with audience participation._

_Broken glass and long shallow cuts. Time to try the hot group before moving on. He's no longer the dapper Watcher who was going to help drag her off to jolly old England for trial and execution._

_Now he's just a not-quite-broken toy that still moves and makes squeaky noises. Still gots a lot of life in him, though. Not even close to dieing. He's still got to be alive long enough for Angel to see. Alive long enough to piss Angel off... Why does she want to piss Angel off again? She's supposed to kill him, right? Wants to kill him. No... yeah..._

_No. She wants something else. Can't quite figure it out. Squeaky toy keeps distracting her..._

* * *

_  
It's like getting your head forced into a bucket and coming up for air. Gasping, not really sure if that's air you're grabbing or if you gave up and breathed water. Not going to be able to do this much longer. There' too much dark down there, too much that just wants to sink into it and give up, let it drag her down. Let the bitch have her._

_Not like she ever did anything worthwhile with her body, anyway. No one's probably even going to notice the difference if Elora's walkin' around in it, wearing her skin, looking out through her eyes, smiling with her lips._

_She looks at the bitch with eyes gone dull. Not even able to muster a "no." this time. Just shaking her head slowly. There was something right at the tail end of that one, though. Something she almost saw... and it was yanked away as she came back up for air._

_Doesn't realize that the phrase that's running through her mind's eye is on her lips like a mantra: "That's not all that I am. That's not. Not. Not... "_

_Dark fingers reach into her mind again, stroking gently and whispering..._

**...**

A bizarre ringing drags her out of a dream. Not sure it is ringing at first... in her dream it was an alarm bell. City was on fire and all she has is a super soaker to try to put it out with. Running back and forth... Sits up and realizes it's the phone. Jeeze.

"Hello?" She glances at the bedside clock. Christ. 3:30 a-fucking-m? Something the voice on the other end is saying grabs hr sleep muzzled attention and drags it back to the phone. "Huh? Run that by me again? What? Fuck... me."

It can't possibly take as long to lay out for her as it seemed like. Must be the blood draining out of her head that's making the time stretch out. Out of bed and vaulting down the hall while she's still trying to process. Banging on a door - shit. Could have used the phone. Too late.

"Giles! Wake the fuck up! It's Vi."

Seems like it takes forever, but it can't be more than a few seconds before the door's flung open and there's a sleep tousled head sticking out, blinking owlishly at her. She bites back an urge to snicker - does he sleep with glasses on? "Vi? What the... " Giles takes in her face and swallows hard. Or maybe its her state of dress that does that... "Good lord. Is the house afire?"

"No. I think Philadelphia may be, though." He blinked, and took off his glasses to polish them. "According to the call I just got from one of our demon underworld contacts... it sounds like Faith may have just kicked the city over on edge. And all the vamps are pouring out of it."

"Good lord." He stares at her. She resists the urge to take his glasses away from him. "Are you bloody serious?"

"As a heart attack, Giles." Vi shakes her head. "First time I've heard a demon sound scared when it wasn't one of us making it happen."

"All right. I believe you. Can we believe the source?"

"Yeah... " Vi thinks about that one for a minute. "Yeah. I think so. He's friendly, and he's usually reliable." Heads are starting to pop out along the hallway. Not many - this is the guest wing, mostly. And admin... most of the heads are teachers and watchers/watcher trainees.

"Hrrmm." Giles puts his glasses on, looking thoughtful. "I know that look, Vi. What do you have in mind?"

"Going down there to see what's up."

"Are you quite certain that's a good idea?"

"No. But I'm not going to leave Faith swinging in the middle of whatever just went sideways." Giles looked dubious at that and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"And we know that this isn't something that some demon made up to draw off people from here, while something is being done in New York? Or in New Jersey, at the nascent Hellmouth?"

"Crap." Vi thought about it for a minute. "We don't." She thought about it for several minutes longer while he studied her thoughtfully, both of them ignoring sleepy queries of 'What's going on?' from the handful of onlookers. "Only one way to find out for sure. I'm going - and I'll take half the Wild Bunch with me. That leaves half here, Andrea, and over thirty slayers of various levels of experience. And you." She grinned, "And if you guys can't handle an apocalypse, we've been wasting our time with all this training."

"No." Giles sighed heavily and raised a hand to forestall the lifted eyebrow and incipient rebellious look she turned on him. "It leaves Andrea, half of the Wild Bunch, thirty or so junior slayers, and the Watcher Trainees. I'm going with you."

"You are?" She took a step back. The lifted eyebrow became Both of them.

"Well, yes. I was a field Watcher, once. I can't very well let you run off doing something preposterously asinine without proper Watcher support, can I?"

Vi snickered. "No... I suppose you very well can't, can you?" She gave him a long look, "Meet you at the weapons locker after we get dressed. I'll have someone bring down the ever-full coffee pot for us."

"Quite." Giles sighed heavily again. "Tally-ho and all that bloody rot."

**...**

_She can almost feel the fingers sifting through her memories as the tatters of her soul and her control start to erode. Hunting for odds and ends of all of the broken places, finding them, and unraveling to follow them back. A stream of images go past her mind's eye: her mother, drunk and hgh and staggering in after a three week absence. Diana crucified lying on the floor of Kakistos' lair, bloody __and whimpering, moaning under the moving weight of a vampire while Kakistos probes her with his claws and Faith stares, shocked and unable to quite move to do anything after bursting in. Watching the life go out in that professor's eyes when she stabs him. Staring at Alan Finch's corpse with her stake in his heart and her mind stuttering while she hears her mouth telling B that she doesn't care. B and Angel laughing at her after they tricked her out of the Mayor's plans with Angel pretending to be Angelus helping her get ready to torture B. Overhearing Willow calling her a skank to Xander. Miss Post, the bitch, calling her an idiot for trusting her when she finally has that damned glove and is getting ready to fry them..._

_Buffy. Xander. Joyce. Angel. Wesley. Watcher's Council. Diana. Chains. Kakistos. Running. Coma dark hurting alone waking up no one visited mayor dead B killed him prison breaking down crying screaming Kill me Angel the Beast Angelus laughing..._

* * *

_She starts walking towards her bed, or at least the one she's using here and stops. Mayor Wilkins is there, looking at her the way that he always did. "I'd say you're doing better than fine. I'd say you're doing a bang-up job, Firecracker."_

_She stares at him, uncomprehending. "Get out."_

_He laughs in that semi-bashful way he always had, shaking his head. "Well, gosh." Wilkins smiles at her, "I think, you know, a 'hello' or a 'nice to see you' might be a little more welcome. It's the end of humanity, Faith," He shakes his head, "not the end of courtesy."_

_Wilkins walks up to Faith, ignoring her protests, brushing away everything she has to say. "No matter what you do, Buffy will always see you as a killer, not as a person. And now you have what she so desperately wants: the respect of these girls. All she needs is an excuse, and she'll finish what she started when she stuck that knife in your belly. You stay on guard, Faith. Buffy's dangerous. If you're not careful, she'll destroy you." He shrugs, "I'm just saying. Deep deep down, you always wanted Buffy to accept you, to love you even. Why do you think that is?"_

_He ignores Faith shaking her head is disbelieve, asking him if he thinks he's a shrink now, or what? Wilkins paces back and forth in front of her, "You keep looking for love and acceptance from these people, these friends of yours, but you're never gonna find it. The truth is, nobody will ever love you. Not the way I love you."_

_"Yeah, I know." Faith nods. "Not the way you love me, Boss. Never the way you loved me... "_

* * *

_  
It's like breaking through dark water again, coming up this time. Swimming through frozen syrup. "Never the way that you loved me... " Faith shakes her head. There's something... something... "Never. The. Way. You. Loved. Me. Never." That wasn't quite right, was it? Something... if she can ony breathe, only find her center for a minute, a second even, maybe she can figure it out. The dark fingers are back, stroking, Elora's voice whispering, probing in her mind..._

_"Never the way that you loved me... " Faith shakes her head again, pushing away the stroking fingers with a kind of a dim, distracted terror. Trying to concentrate through a mind made of syrup..._

* * *

_Richard Wilkins gazed at them from the side, smiling at the exchange. "I'm proud of you, firecracker. Almost worth not making it to see you grow into yourself."_

_She gaped at him, stunned almost beyond comprehension that he'd be here, on this side of the Gates, still looking at her with exasperated fondness. "What the... ?"_

_He laughed, "I didn't take you in just because you were a tool, Firecracker. You were special." Her first watcher nodded agreement, blood about her..._

* * *

_  
"Never. The. Way. He. Loved. Me. Never." The kick comes out of nowhere, from some place deep inside where there was nothing left except animal fury, desperation, and a deep, deep, deep loathing. It's a tossup which of them is more shocked, Faith or Elora lying sprawled on the ground a dozen yards away in the ruins of a shattered gravestone, looking up at Faith astonished with blood on her mouth. "Never."_

_Faith bent over at the waist, glaring through her tangled hair at the blonde vampiress. If only she had enough strength to follow that one up. If only there wasn't all this blood... she looks down, seeing blood running over her arms from the open stab wound in her gut._

_"Never. The. Way. You. Loved. Me. Never." She says again, eyes narrowed. "That one didn't happen. That was The First, wearing the Boss's body. Talking through his dead mouth." Faith gasped it out, her head spinning. "The way you want to wear mine."_

_Faith falls to her knees. "No. Not gonna happen."_

_"You can't stop me. You have nothing left." Elora stands and stalks over, slowly. "If you won't give in to your own darkness and let me in, I'll force my way." The dark fingers are back, insistent and tearing this time rather than stroking and seductive. Ripping her head apart, ripping into her mind. Memories go whirling past her minds eye, almost faster than she can focus on them._

* * *

_Wesley looking at her outside of Blade's compound as she's getting on her bike. "Faith. It's done. It's hard to forget, but it was forgiven a long time ago." He met her eyes. "Just forgive yourself now." Xander looking up into her eyes that first time, before the time she tried to strangle him. Synchronized slaying with B, before things went irrevocably bad. Blade nodding, looking at her with that flat uncompromising gaze of his. "You haven't fucked up since you been here." Faith's mouth opening and hanging there. Nothing coming out - her mind completely blank and running in circles, stuttering. "Uhh... " Dawn's voice going all soft over the phone... "Yup. Maybe you're not the only one who isn't real tightly wrapped sometimes. I have a lot of acquaintances, it seems like. Somehow you're the only grownup friend I've made so far that's mine, you know? Not Buffy's friend who's just nice to the kid sis." Gunn looking at her in awe as she slams someone back against the fence because they won't accept that she's not going to let them ice Angel, "Damn. I like her." Vince stands up from the table at Perditions, a smoking shotgun in his hands, looking over the body... "I know who my friends are," Vince says, quietly. "And you ain't one of them." Spike giving himself over to the fires and closing the pits and sealing in the Turok-han. We shouldn't be doing this it's rape just not one girl at a time it's all at once and it's not right what do I know about 'Right, anyway' no... The other black girl looked at her, looked around. "I Chose you, I tink?" Yeah, but you made a mistake, Choosing me... O'Brien watching his dead lover go to the flames from the inside out, turning those terrible, empty eyes on her... and not blaming. Harmony and her bank of television monitors... all those lives... all the lives she had, could have had, and never would have..._

* * *

_  
Xander. Buffy. Vince. Wilkins. Blade. Wesley. Angel. Spike. Cordelia. Kendra. Gunn. Diana Dormer. Abby. Sensei Kanno. Dawn. Hannibal. O'Brien. Giambione. Master Caine. Vi..._

_XanderBuffyVinceWilkinsBladeWesleyAngelSpikeCordeliaKendraGunnDianaDormerAbbySenseiKannoDawnHannibalO'BrienGiambioneMasterCaineViXanderBuffyVinceWilkinsBladeWesleyAngelSpikeCordeliaKendraGunnDianaDormerAbbySenseiKannoDawnHannibalO'BrienGiambioneMasterCaineViTheBeastJoyceXanderBuffyVinceFredWilkinsBladeWesleyAngelSpikeCordeliaKendraGunnDianaDormerAbbySenseiKannoDawnHannibalO'BrienGiambioneMasterCaineViXanderBuffyVinceWilkinsBladeWesleyAngelSpikeCordeliaKendraGunnDianaDormerAbbySenseiKannoDawnHannibalO'BrienGiambioneMasterCaineViDeanSamAbbyHarmonyCordeliaPlace Where Only That Which You've Loved Can Save You Place Where Only That Which You've __Touched__ Can Save You WhatYou'veTouchedIsAlwaysThePeople NeverHadThingsNo I'msorryI'msorry I can't make it up can't make it right I'msorry wanna die kill me please Angel..._

_"NO!"_

_The scream came out of deep inside of herself. Elora was flung smashing up against the side of the mausoleum, looking up at her, dazed and astonished. Blood came out of Elora's mouth, and she looked down to see that wicked looking Hibben style knife, the Mayor's knife, sticking out of her stomach. She put her hands on it, trying to pull it out._

_"No." Faith straightened, hair wild around her face. She noticed absently that the blood was no longer flowing out of her stomach. "That's what I am. But that's not all that I am." She shook her head, her voice getting firmer. "It's not."_

_Elora managed to pull herself to her feet, slowly, shaking her head. She walked towards Faith slowly, weaving, one hand still wrapped around the knife grip jutting from her abdomen._

_"No. It's not all that I am." Faith glared at her, daring her to start with the dark stroking mind fingers again. "I may have been like you, but I'm not you. I won't become you. You can't make me. I'm not." From somewhere, she felt strength she didn't realise she had flow into her. It almost had seemed as if there'd been two voices saying those words, one from outside of herself reinforcing her faltering voice, making it stronger..._

_"Of course you're not." Elora whirls, staggering towards the second voice. Faith's voice, coming from behind her now. "You're the Black Angel, remember? Dancing against the Dark," the voice sounded amused, dark eyes measuring Elora and finding her wanting._

_Faith straightened a bit more, pushing her hair back from her face with her hands. Looking past, looking through the vampire as if she wasn't there. Her voice. Her face... Older maybe, just a bit. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and a light jacket. Eyes not as dark, lighter hair. She nodded, meeting those browner eyes..._

_"Damn straight." Her voice was ragged, but firm. Elora whirled back to her, gaping, her eyes wide._

_"That's not all she is, you know," the other Faith, not-Faith said. Elora spun back to her, eyes narrowing. "And you can't have any of her."_

_"The __hell__ I can't," the blonde slayer vampire snarled, whirling back on Faith. Her eyes lit, desperate. Her body turned insubstantial, black swirling smoke, and she flowed across and around Faith, smashing and battering at her mind and her defenses._

_Faith reeled back, her double's eyes going shocked and wide across the clearing from her. She could feel her mind and what little was left of herself crumbling under the savage assault. She shoved back with her mind and all of herself, and felt it not being enough. 'I can't stop her. Can't push her away... there's not enough walls left,' she thought, despairing, reaching deep inside for something, anything. 'Can't push... can't shove... ' Faith felt the vampire's essence flowing into and through her, flooding her soul and pushing her Self out of the way._

_She found a core of something, almost gone. Something... she wasn't sure what exactly. Faith grabbed hold of whatever it was and clung to it like a lifeline, forcing herself up under the insistent battering. 'Can't push... pull. Meet weakness with strength. Step aside from force and turn it in on itself... '_

_She let herself fall inwards, searching for that deep center place. That Centered place... Not Slayer. Not Killer. Not victim. Not... not anything. Just... Faith. All of the above. None of the above. Huh. Just a Name, and a Self. All there is._

_"I am become a Name. I contain multitudes. In the Place Where Only That Which You've Loved Can Save You, you'd better have touched an awful fucking lot." She straightened up and let go, let go of everything. Let go of self, let go of hate, let go of love, let go of hopes and dreams and all of the things she thought she wanted once... all that she'd fought for once... everything except for that deep, bright, shining steel core._

_"I contain multitudes." She wasn't certain if she spoke it or thought it. Heard it echoed from that other voice, so much like her own. "And I can contain even you." She quit pushing against Elora and __pulled__... feeling a brief momentary astonishment that seemed to come from outside of herself, and then inside. And then gone._

_Found herself standing at the edge of the clearing in the darkened graveyard clad head to toe once more in gleaming black armor of leather and golden steel, both Valdris blades clenched in green glowing hands. Met her own eyes across the clearing where her other, older self/not-self had made it half way across the open ground before it... whatever... had happened just now... was over._

_"I think I may be ill." She managed a half grin without it feeling like it was pasted on. Well... almost like. Kinda pasted. "I just know something I ate is going to disagree with me."_

_"Gotta feeling, huh?" Her other self grinned back, and knelt to pick up the knife from where it had dropped when Elora went insubstantial. She crossed the remaining space casually, her eyes giving Faith a critical once over. "I don't have to ask if you're still you - I can feel it. Where is she now?"_

_"Inside of me. Yuck." Faith relaxed her hands and the Valdris blades went away. She accepted the knife the other-Faith handed to her, grip first. "Thanks."  
__  
"No problem. I didn't really do much."_

_"Oh... " Faith laughed, stopped herself. Better not. You may not ever stop. You can die laughing like that... she shook her head. "Wouldn't say that. I'd say it was a lot."_

_"Maybe. All I did was lend you a bit of strength." The brown eyes were laughing with her, not at. Concerned._

_"Was a lot. Enough, when I needed it," Faith drank in the other girl, eyes searching. "I have to ask. Who are you... ? Not me... "_

_"No. Not you. I... " She shook her head, frustrated. "Guess I can't. Not time yet, and I'm not really here... and you have a long way to go before it is."_

_"S'allright. I can wait." Faith grinned. "I'm getting better at this patience thing."_

_"Good." The other not-Faith's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You need to work on this not getting beat to hell thing. You may not live long enough to wait, at this rate." She gave her a concerned look, "Are you going to.. " she made a vague gesture, "be ok?"_

_"Yeah. Think so." Faith nodded. "Going to have a lot to absorb though. I think I just absorbed a lot."_

_"Yeah." She did the smiling, crinkly eye thing again. "Guess you did."_

_Faith cocked her head and gave her other not-self a serious look. "I am all of those things she showed me. They're inside of me still. Always will be."_

_"Yeah. Just like she is, now. But you were right, right? That's not all that you are. Not any more."_

_"Yeah... " Faith looked inward, thinking. Searching. She could feel Elora way down in there, still shocked and drowning inside of her. Something else to deal with and sort out. "Guess not. I think I'm becoming something else somewhere along the way."_

_"Good. Don't lose your way, huh?" The other not-her got a distant look in those brown eyes. "Well, hell. Later, I think. See ya." She began to fade out, slowly._

_"You bet." Faith nodded. She felt herself fading as well. She hoped like hell her first act on waking up wherever wasn't going to be horking the hell up all over everything. She hadn't been joking about feeling ill - she could still feel Elora's... essence... buried deep inside._

_She let go and the graveyard dissolved about her, and someplace else gathered her up and spit her out..._

"Fuck me." Faith struggled up to something vaguely resembling consciousness, then gave up the effort and regular sleep grabbed her and took her under. "I hope we won," she murmured. "Gettin' vamped in my sleep after that would just... "


	27. Chapter 27: It's the life we lead

**Chapter 27: **_**"It's the life we lead..."**_

(Day 15, _Friday, December 19, 2003_)

Crap. There are times when waking up is the last thing you want to do. As Faith drifted back to awareness, everything from the previous night's dream battle flooded into her memories. She groaned under her breath and did her best to sink back into slumber. No go - her body seemed to have well and truly decided she was rested enough. _'Don't want to go to school today. Learning experiences suck,'_ she thought. _'Did I really swallow a vampire whole in the dreamways?'_

Her inner awareness told her that she had. She could feel Elora's essence, buried deep inside of her, darkness, hunger, power and all. Double crap. _'Yuck doesn't even begin to cover this,'_ ran through her mind. _'Doesn't matter than she was attempting to do the same to me and it was me or her. I feel ill. No - I feel __unclean__, in a way that I don't think I ever have before.'_ Faith squeezed her eyes shut, hard, hoping the memory would go away. It didn't. _'I usually have to commit slayer dreams to memory so I won't lose details. Not this one... I think it's been burned into my mind. How the fuck do you deal with something like this? __Can__ you deal with something like this?'_

It wasn't so much the essence or the memories of the hunger. It was the memories that came with the blonde vampiress' absorption. Faith wasn't a stranger to having dual sets of memories. She'd never told anyone - especially not Dawn - but she'd always had both sets of memories surrounding Dawn: her original set without Buffy's little sister, and the implanted set after Dawn had appeared. Initially her original memories had been supplanted by the magical ones, as, she'd gathered, had everyone else's. The original ones had begun reappearing to her slowly via slayer dreams while she was in prison... gradually gaining in strength until they returned to their original clarity while the false memories faded in strength, becoming a kind of dual echo that she could access and compare if she concentrated for a second. It had almost convinced her for a time that she really _was_ going insane... until she'd managed to sort out what was happening.

Not that the awareness altered in any way how she viewed the younger girl. Never would. As far as Faith was concerned, magical origin or not, Dawn was as 'real' a person as herself, and that person was pretty damned likable. More real in some ways... it didn't matter how she'd come about. Not like Faith had much room to talk about anyone else's weird life...

This was similar in some ways. Elora's memories and personality was like an overlay in her head existing side by side with her own. Distinct, and background like compared to hers... but feeling like they were and always had been a part of her, now. All she had to do was concentrate for a moment, and she could recall, see, and feel what it was like growing up in a 12th century court, being called (like being called a second time), and later, being embraced and turned. Not quite like having multiple personality disorder, as she understood it: this wasn't a separate personality she swapped places with when some mental switch was flipped. It was like having a second person, or a shade of a second person, coexisting in her head.

She only hoped that they would fade over time, become less distinct and more distant as the secondary memories of Dawn had. Or maybe they'd integrate with her own. Gods... she hoped not... she didn't think she could handle slowly becoming some sort of Faith/Elora melding.

Whatever had happened in that fight at the end... Faith realized that she had won, finally. Somehow. Examining the remnants of Elora in her mind, there was no 'person' attached to them. Memories, a reflection, and... 'essence' for lack of a better term. No volition, consciousness, or sense of 'self' attached to the Elora part of her mind. Thank gods...

She wondered what had happened to Elora's spirit, if that was the proper term. Had it gone on to whatever? Been destroyed or absorbed into hers? That was a disturbing thought. That would make for a peculiarly gruesome sort of murder. Killing. Whatever. Accurate as it might be, 'self-defense' didn't quite cover something like that.

_'Enough, Faith. If you'd lost, it would have been __your__ gruesome sort of murder,'_ she told herself. _'Elora's memories make it clear that she had every intention of doing this to __**you**__: absorbing your mind, self, soul and everything you are into herself while she took over your body. Yeah - it was a desperation thing on her part prompted by your... assassinating her, but the __intent__ was there.'_ It didn't quite help. It still felt foul. Something else she was going to have to learn how to live with.

Oh well. Enough. She rolled onto her back and pushed herself to her elbows slowly. No clock, but her time sense told her it was around mid-morning of whatever day it was. _'How long was I out this time,'_ she wondered. The smells and sounds of the place told her she was back at Blade and Hannibal's temporary headquarters in the junkyard. She could hear movement outside of her room and recognized Abby from the sound and weight of the footsteps. No other movements... either Blade and King were out, or deep asleep somewhere a bit too far for her hearing.

Smells of coffee and other things came to her. Her stomach rumbled and she told it to shut the fuck up. It refused. Groaning, she sat up the rest of the way and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She found her bag and saddle bags in the room at the foot of the bed. None of her weapons, or her coat, but she figured they were probably out front, along with the gearbox she'd left here. She hoped her bike had made it back... She pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt and went out.

Outside in the main room, she leaned against the door jamb where Abby was putzing about in the kitchen area at something. "Coffee Goddess. Hey."

"Hey yourself," Abby gave her a slight smile and a long searching look, her hand out of sight beneath a counter. After several minutes, she gave a short nod as if satisfied about something, and leaned against the stove, bringing her hand out to push hair back from her eyes. "Glad to see you're among the living again." The smile went fully genuine, reaching all the way to the eyes this time.

Faith gave a rueful nod inside her head, realizing the other girl had been searching her with slayer sense as well as eyes. Didn't blame her. "Yeah." Faith cocked her head, "There was doubt... ?"

"For a bit there, yeah." Abby nodded. "Coffee? I'm working on some breakfast here in a bit."

"Water first? Not sure my stomach could take coffee right now," Faith said. She took a stool by the breakfast bar, leaning her elbows on the counter. "How long?"

"Over two days. It's early Friday afternoon." Faith winced. _'Not again... '_ Abby noted the wince and gave her a sympathetic look, "Thrashing, fighting, and mumbling or screaming for almost a day and a bit, then you fell into a more normal sleep finally."

"Gather we won?" Faith asked. She saw her coat, gear, and weapons on one of the workbenches, but didn't get up to go look them over. Later for that.

"Iffy. Winning, is more like it." Abby took eggs and other breakfast makings out of the fridge after opening and handing Faith a cold bottled water.

"What happened after I... " Faith made a vague gesture, "collapsed?" Faith drained about half the water greedily, resisting the urge to pour the rest over her head.

"Lots. Blade and I worked our way up to where you went down and got a fast brief from the blonde cop. Then we aborted the op and fought our way out and clear, and split." The sound of crackling butter came from the stove after a few minutes. "We weren't sure what happened... so we got clear and Blade, King and I took you to your healer friend."

Faith nodded. "My bike?" She winced. Great. What had shaped up to be a nasty fight... and the main casualty on her mind was a motorcycle. Miss Sensitive, she wasn't.

"Out back. Hannibal rode it away while we took you in Blade's car. I recovered mine the next day." If Abby thought anything off about Faith's priorities, she didn't say. She knew how Faith felt about that bike. Faith nodded, feeling absurdly relieved.

"Everone else make it?" Then again, it may have just been that it was easier to ask about the bike - because this one was the question she didn't want to hear the answer to...

"Almost." Abby's voice went soft. "They lost the bearded cop, Carson. Two of Vince's men didn't make it out, either."

"Crap," Yeah, definitely not what Faith had wanted to hear. Safer sticking to the bike. She felt like punching something, but there was nothing in reach that she wanted to break. "What happened?"

"Turned into a hell of a fight, almost. Every vamp that wasn't leaving town seemed to be converging on Eastern State. We left just before the bulk of them got there." She shook her head. "Gunfire got the cop. Vince didn't say what happened to his people, just that they weren't coming out."

"Yeah... sounds like Vince. Crap." Abby set two plates heaped with scrambled eggs on the counter, coffee, and a couple more bottles of water. She came around and sat on the other stool over and they both dug in.

After taking the edge off of the hole in her middle, Faith ventured, "Blade and King?"

"Out hunting. So are your cop friends." Abby refilled both coffee cups, then turned back to her food. "Let's see... your friend Gunn had to go back to LA: he said he'd be back tomorrow or the day after."

Faith nodded. "Dean?" She hated to ask...

Abby sighed. "He went back to the hospital. According to O'Brien, he and his brother checked out later that day and no one's seen them since." She shook her head, "I don't think anything happened to them. They took Dean's car."

Faith nodded slowly, digesting that. "Yeah... " She shook her head, keeping her eyes down so Abby wouldn't see her blinking. "I don't think he was dealin' real well with our.. my style of doin' things." Crap. Again. "No big." Faith shrugged. Abby looked at her, nodding. "Both moving different directions anyway."

"Right." Abby said.

Faith scowled, "He'd of been leaving the next day if all this hadn't blown up."

"Yup." Abby nodded.

"Smart ass." Faith frowned, and scraped the last of her eggs up.

Abby examined her friend with some concern. She'd been moody with them before, yeah. Not... shaken and withdrawn like this, though. "You ok?"

"Over Dean?" Faith shot her a look, then shook her head. "No... I'm ok on that. Or will be."

"No... not over Dean so much," Abby propped her chin on her hand and looked at her. "Over whatever happened to you."

"Ah." Faith took a swig of coffee and looked away. "No. Not."

"Talk about it?"

"No." She sighed. "Need to, yeah. But... no."

"All right." Abby left it alone for a moment, then, "If not to me, maybe to your friend Dawn when you call her. Or Wesley."

"Dawn?" Faith brought her head back around. "Oh crap... was supposed to call her."

Abby grinned. "Yeah. She's left a number of missed calls and voice mails on your phone over there." She nodded toward the bench with Faith's gear.

"Arg. I'll call her after I catch up on things." Faith frowned, then gave Abby a direct look. "Not tryin' to close you out, ok? Just have some things to sort." She made a frustrated gesture, and curled her hand into a fist and looked at it. "Our vampire bitch did something after you killed her. Yanked me into the dreamways... tried to take me over. Got pretty close... " She looked away again.

"Gathered some of that from what your healer said."

Faith nodded. "She didn't make it. But it got pretty ugly in here... " She tapped her temple.

"Well, it's an open offer, whenever you do get it sorted."

"Thanks. Will." She threw Abby a grateful look and was quiet for a time. "What else has happened?" She asked finally, changing the subject.

"Lots... " Abby trailed off, looking thoughtful. "Between you, Vince, and the places King and Blade hit, we put together a pretty good list of Familiars and ghouls. Blade, Hannibal, and your cop friends have been taking them out the past few days. Blade, King, and Vince took down two more blood factories." She paused, "Aside from people dying, passing out, bailing out, or taking off for their day jobs... it's actually been kind of entertaining." Abby grinned suddenly.

The grin was infectious: Faith found herself grinning back despite her mood. "Entertaining. Girl, you're as warped as I am."

"Damn straight," Abby laughed. "Like I'm going to cry over Familiars getting iced?" She raised both eyebrows and shook her head. "Declaring open season on vamps and familiars in the demon underworld was a nice touch. Vampires of all breeds have been migrating out in trickles and droves the last few nights. A few of our contacts have said they've been showing up elsewhere all over: New York, Jersey, Baltimore, DC... "

"New York?" Faith blinked. Damn, she really hadn't thought parts of that through... "Shit. I need to call Vi and warn them... "

"Relax," Abby put a hand on her arm as she started to bolt out of her chair. "I already did. They've got patrols on alert. And Vi and some of the girls are down here helping with hunting down the remaining vampires."

"Ah." Faith sat back down. "Cool." A thought occurred to her and a curious expression crossed her face. "Who'd you get to cover for you in J-City?"

"Charlene." At Faith's blank look, Abby frowned and added, "Newer girl, don't know if you met her? From Miami."

"Hrrmm... think so." Faith considered, "Yeah. Vaguely. Huh, ok... right build and height, change the hair, your clothes, give her a bow and gear... yeah: she could pass for you."

"Yup. As long as she didn't have to show the flag anywhere I'm well known. And not much call for that lately." Abby shrugged.

"Vi probably wanted to see me. What'd you tell her?"

"That you were working something out, and you'd make contact when you got clear of it," she stated. Faith frowned slightly, shaking her head.

"Bet that went over well."

"Our op." Shrug. "Keep telling them that we'll work with the IWC, but we don't work for them." Abby made an indifferent gesture. "It'll sink in some day. Or it won't."

"Bet _that_ went over well, too." Faith shook her head, grinning. Sigh. She'd known she was going to need to have a long discussion with Vi, setting up to deal with the aftermath. Just hadn't realized it would be this soon... "Still need to talk to her." She didn't make an immediate move to get up and do so, though.

"Whenever you're ready," Abby shrugged again, unconcerned.

"Thanks."

Abby raised an eyebrow, surprised. "For what?"

"Dropping everything and coming down. Covering my rear." Faith waved a hand aimlessly. "Everything."

"I didn't do that much." Abby smiled. "Watched over the hospital, then followed you around waiting for the signal, or for a clean shot." The smile disappeared and a furrow appeared between her eyebrows, "Got to that bar too late. You were already coming down and vampire bitch was gone."

"No. Not your fault," Faith shook her head. "And it was a lot."

"All right," Abby nodded. "Welcome. Still... you'd have done the same if we needed your help. We're friends. It's not a contest, Faith. It's just something you do."

"Yeah... " Faith studied the other girl. "Dawn and I were talking... seems like just the other day. About how neither of us are real good at this 'friends' thing yet." She trailed off, looking past the kitchen, and shook herself out of it. "I'm not used to people who don't want something, or who aren't interested in what they can use me for. She's never able to be sure if she's real, or if people are just seeing her as Buffy's sister they need to be nice to." Faith shrugged, "I always dealt with it by not getting too close, and moving on before any connections got made. I... I'm not sure how she deals with it."

Abby watched her friend's face. She nodded and said carefully, "You didn't move on from us. Stayed, made connections."

Faith snorted, "And look what that did. Got you guys swept into an apocalypse and almost killed. Hell, I helped warp your life before we ever even met. Before I ever even knew you existed."

"If you hadn't, what would have happened? Gates would have opened and we'd have been swept into it without knowing what caused it." Abby shook her head. "And with no one there to stop it."

Faith shrugged it away, angry for no reason she could pin down. "Yeah? How about here? I got Dean and his brother almost killed because of something that was after me. O'Brien's people swept up into a war, and he had to kill his former girlfriend because the thing after me killed and turned her. One of their partners killed backing me. How many people dead in that restaurant? Or the bar?" Her voice was rising and she found herself half standing over the stool, fists clenched.

"Hey." Abby reached out and took her by the hands and wrists. Faith attempted to yank them back, found them held solidly. She kept her eyes down, not wanting Abby to see the killing glare in them... "It's ok. You need to hit me? Go ahead. I'll let go so you can."

"No." Faith sank down onto the low stool again, shaking her head. Abby kept hold of her hands. "Don't know what I need. Not that... "

Abby was silent for a time, watching her. "It's the life we lead, Faith. The war was already here. O'Brien and his people were already in it, without knowing it. You think they'd have dropped it after finding that blood factory, whether you were here or not? They'd have kept digging without knowing what they were getting into - and been killed, turned, or made into Familiars."

"Maybe... " Faith trailed off, still not meeting the other girl's eyes.

"No maybe. I've talked to the man when he was here to check in on you. O'Brien doesn't blame you for all this... why should you?"

"Because... " Faith trailed off again, shaking her head.

"Listen to me." Something in the other girl's voice drew her eyes up to Abby's, in spite of herself. "I got into this because I wanted to, long before you guys did whatever you did that Called all of the Potentials. My family died before I got into it. My father died because of all this. Drake and his people killed almost all of us and practically wiped out the Nightstalkers because we went after them and screwed up - didn't cover our backs enough. You're not the only one that loses people, and sometimes it's not your fault. It's a war, and the bad guys hit back."

"Your father... that was the other Whistler that Blade talks about?" Abby nodded. "How do you deal with it?"

"By realizing it happens, and making it costly. By not letting them dictate to you what you do and who you are. Not letting go of those connections... because we can't do it alone." Abby was silent for a moment, "I found Hannibal shortly after he took the cure and we hooked up. We found Blade after Whistler was killed. We're family now... all we've got. You have Dawn, Wes, us, Angel... even Vi and your beat up old cop." She shook her head, "It's not using people to let them in when they want to be there."

Faith stared at her for a long time. She finally unballed her fists and wove her fingers through the other girl's, gripping them hard. "I'm scared, Abby... " It came out almost in a whisper. She'd expected the admission to cost her more than it had.

"So am I. Most of the time." Abby gripped her hands back.

"No. Not like that... " Faith shook her head. "That bitch did something to me. She pulled out every memory I had, all the dark spots, pushed into all the broken places. Was trying to find cracks to slip in through so she could snuff me out so she could take my body. I... I finally ended up... not fighting. I took her in, and then I... swallowed her, like. Not sure how. Everything she was, all of her essence, memories, mind, hunger, darkness... made her a part of me. Murdered her like she wanted to murder me." She paused, then continued, "Now she's in here and I'll never get rid of her." Her eyes dropped, "I had two darknesses now: hers and mine. I'm afraid that shadow of her'll take me back to what I used to be, and I won't be able to stop it..."

"Then we won't let you go," Abby said, simply. "We'll deal with it."

"That easy, huh?" Faith stared at her. "You don't know what it was like. I'm already a danger to everyone around me. If I go back to that, it'll be worse: I'm stronger now. Deadlier."

"Not that easy, no." Abby stared back. "Blade deals with something like that every minute of every day. If he doesn't take his injections, then there's always the chance the thirst can take over and he'll become what he fights. What he was... Hannibal as well. The cure didn't take away the thirst, or the memories. It's always there."

"You're not alone," Abby slid off her stool, standing, and pulled the other girl up, putting her arms around her. Faith fought the embrace at first, resisting, and then relaxed into it. "We'll make it, Faith. One way or another."

**...**

"You've got quite a bit of nerve crashing in here without an appointment, Lieutenant," Deputy Commissioner Rawls stated. He glared at the somewhat overweight, balding Major Cases head. O'Brien he ignored completely except for including him in his next statement: "I could push for ousting both of you, if I care to, considering all of the.. borderline criminal activity Major Cases has been involved in the past several days."

Hogan smirked and plopped down in one of the comfortable visitors chairs in front of the Deputy Commissioner's desk. He considered putting his feet up on the desk, and decided leaning forward aggressively was the better option. "Now, Rawls. You wouldn't care to go doing anything like that."

"Why not?" Rawls leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of him and studying the Lieutenant. "Hey! What are you doing?" He half raised out of his seat as O'Brien locked the door behind them.

"Kevin's just making sure we won't be disturbed, Commissioner," Hogan said in a placating tone. "Have a seat. I think you're going to want to finish this discussion."

Rawls glared at him again, but eased back down, straightening his tie. "What's on your mind, Hogan?" He paused as O'Brien set an open folder down on he desk blotter in front of him. "What's this?"

"Look through it. I think you'll find it fascinating." There wasn't an ounce of humor in Hogan's smile.

Rawls gave him a sharp look, and began going through the photos and documents in the folder. When he reached the crime scene photos of the blood factory, with closeup shots of the plainclothesmen's tattoos, he slowed, looking across the desk at Hogan and O'Brien suspiciously more and more often as he continued.

"All right. I can see that Major Cases has something pretty explosive here," Rawls said. "Bad publicity for the department if nothing else." He glanced down at the folder again, closing it. "What has this to do with me? There's regular channels for these cases."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll all come clear." Hogan took out a stack of additional photos from his briefcase and set them, along with a small sheaf of papers on top of the closed folder. At Rawls' glance up, he said, "Photos of an assortment of similar tattoos. Almost all of them from various members of plainclothes, Vice, and several other departments. A few from some of your colleagues that have put in abruptly for 'extended leave' the last few days." He smiled like a heavyset shark. "At least one of those matches the tattoo you're wearing."

"You can't prove... "

"You might want to take a glance at the papers along with those photos, Deputy Commissioner." O'Brien's voice gave the title an ironic sound. "You'll notice they're a pretty lengthy list of people in various positions in the police, Mayor's Office and the courts with similar tattoos to yours and those."

"Yeah. Fancy that," Hogan leaned back in his chair. "Along with who they're tied to. Several of your... patrons... were pretty damned forthcoming with us shortly before they decided it wasn't in their best interests to be around any longer."

"If you have talked to any of those, you know damned well that there's not a damned thing a court or Internal Affairs can or will do about it." Rawls' smirk wasn't as certain as he'd wanted it to be.

"Who said anything about the courts?" O'Brien said in a mild tone. "Courts aren't involved in this. IAD has some of their own problems."

"Then what do you want? Blackmail?"

"Of a kind, Commissioner, of a kind." Hogan's voice was as mild as O'Brien's. "All of your patrons and their associates are busily either leaving the city or... falling apart on you." Hogan smiled. "Pretty soon, all you're going to have is an ownership mark and no owners."

"You're bluffing." Rawls didn't beieve that even when it came out of his mouth. He'd seen all of the various reports from the last several days, and already found that almost none of his contact numbers were answered any longer.

"Try me. Go ahead, call around. Go make some visits." Hogan leaned forward. "When you find out what we already know you're aware of, then we'll talk again. Assuming you decide to stick around."

"What do you want," he asked again.

"Pretty simple, really. You're going to do whatever it takes to make sure that Major Cases and Major Crimes Division isn't bothered by any of the fallout from the events of the past several days. We'll be having a similar discussion with the Commissioner and a few judges here and there. Otherwise... " Hogan's eyes went suddenly cold. "Otherwise, were going to have a long talk with those two FBI Agents who've been poking around since they arrived yesterday, and an awful lot of photos, files, and tape recordings are going to find their way into their hands. You'd be amazed at what turns up out there in the dark, you purely would. Catch my drift?"

"Have a nice day, Deputy Commissioner Rawls," O'Brien gathered up the papers, photos and folder. "And you be sure and be careful at night. There seem to be a lot of wild animal attacks for some reason, lately."

"We'll be in touch," Hogan levered himself up out of the chair and went out the door following O'Brien.


	28. Chapter 28: Interludes 1pt 0

**Chapter 28: **_**"Conversational Interludes 1.0 - That'll teach me..."**_

Abby sat for a long time wrapped in her own thoughts after Faith finally dragged herself together and wandered off for a shower and change. Faith had spent a number of extremely stressful and intense days with them after Blade had brought her home passed out after a fight with several vampires. She'd seen the other girl in just about every frame of mind over the course of that; from depressed to delighted to intensely dangerous when they'd been out crashing demon bars together.

This was the first time she'd seen her rattled enough for the tough girl facade to fall away completely...

_'No. Not a facade. Faith is tough - it's a part of her,'_ Abby thought. _'That's the problem... '_ Abby'd come close to breaking when Drake and his vampires had tortured and wiped out her surrogate family, the Nightstalkers, and kidnapped Zoe. It doesn't matter how tough you are when something completely bypasses the armor and shatters you. Bypassing the armor was exactly what the vampire bitch had _done_ during that little psychic rape attempt that Faith had described. She couldn't blame Faith for being shaken... she wasn't certain how the hell _she_ would deal with something similar.

_'It's easy to say we won't let you fall. Figuring out how the hell to make good on a promise like that is something else.'_ Abby clicked off the news program she hadn't really been following and went looking for her friend.

She found Faith in the gym at the back of the temporary headquarters, listening to news with her eyes closed and doing some graceful kata at a speed that required Abby to shift her vision up to slayer levels just to follow it. Different forms than the ones she normally saw Faith using or practicing. Abby leaned against a wall to watch while studying her.

"Terrorists, huh?" The unexpected question made Abby jump, startled.

"Jeeze." Abby uncoiled, relaxing back against the wall behind her. "You're like Blade sometimes. Completely focused inwards, distractions all around, and _still_ not missing anything around you."

"Sorry." The corners of Faith's lips curled up slightly in a small grin. She jerked her head towards the wall mounted television without slowing her kata forms. "Terrorists are the official explanation? So, are the vamps the evil terrorists? Or are we the terrorists and the vamps the innocent bystanders?"

"Ha. Depends on which news station you listen to." Abby snorted. "According to FOX, we - whoever 'we' are - are the terrorists carrying on a campaign against the police, public landmarks, and public officials yata yata. CNN's speculating it's a retaliation against the Bush administration for their Iraq policies. Justified, no doubt. MSNB's playing both angles against the middle and giving plenty of air time to various 'experts' analyzing the situation. Other ones are running the gamut."

"Wonder how many of the experts are Familiars?" Faith asked in a rhetorical tone.

"I wonder how many of the news casters and anchors are?" Abby laughed. "No one's mentioning vampires. Or blood factories. Or mysterious creatures."

"Not surprised."

Abby nodded. "That's new. The forms I mean. Graceful... looks a Shaolin style?"

Faith nodded, continuing. "Several of them combined."

"You usually use harder styles."

"Yeah. Krav Maga, Mui Thai, boxing, others... Stuff Sensei Kanno taught me." Faith was silent for a few moments, continuing the combat dance. "Learned these from Master Caine in New York. It's not really combat for me... it's meditation. They're centering like."

Abby grinned. "Didn't know meditation was done at warp speeds."

"Ha!" Faith shook her head. "Not usually. Trying to figure out what effects this thing had on me inside."

"Ah." Abby cocked her head, watching. "Pinned any down so far?"

"Yeah." Faith's voice went flat. "I'm doing these at about two-thirds maximum speed right now."

"Whoa... " Abby blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "Can you show me maximum?" Faith nodded, and sped up gradually until her movements were blurring even to Abby's slayer reflexes enhanced vision.

"Ok, that's spooky." Abby stated. Faith nodded again, easing to a halt and dropping into a relaxed stance. She dropped gracefully into a sitting position cross legged on the mats and picked up a bottle of water from nearby.

"Yeah. Been afraid to try Blade's weight machines." Abby nodded and, grabbing a couple more bottles of water from the small fridge, went over to sit across from her on the mat. "Thanks," Faith finished her first bottle and picked up the new one, holding it without opening it right away. "Figure I'm about a quarter to a third again as fast as I was. And I weren't slow."

"No, you weren't." Abby bogged slightly inside. She remembered something Vi had mentioned once, on one of Abby's rare visits to the slayer school: about how the other senior slayer had mentioned getting freaked out once when she discovered that watching a movie was like viewing a slide show - and she didn't know if she'd ever be able to see another movie. "Think it's permanent?"

"Going to try very hard to not give you 'The Look'," Faith laughed softly, shaking her head. The laugh wasn't reflected in those eyes. "How the hell do I know? Maybe, probably... feels like?"

"Could be, sorta, no fucking clue?" Abby nodded and they both laughed. "Sorry."

"No big." Faith put a hand on her arm. "Spooky is the right word... " She trailed off, "It's like... like I absorbed whatever was left of the Slayer Essence in Elora. Other stuff too. Like suddenly knowin' French if I dig for it for a minute. Or some weird French martial arts style I never heard of... savate?" Abby nodded. "And... sword styles. I was never really a trained swordswoman. Just patched with reflexes and speed. Now... did you know they had a dueling style for those big two-handed swords? The ones that are taller than I am?"

Abby frowned, thinking about that. It made sense given what Faith had described earlier. "Can you do those styles?"

"No." A furrow appeared between Faith's eyebrows. "Not without concentrating for some time - they're not in muscle and reflex memory yet. It's like... " Faith appeared to be searching for words, and spread her hands. "Like being able to see it in my head, how it's done."

"Hrmm." Abby gave her a concerned look. "What about the other vampiric stuff? The thirst?"

"Yeah." Faith looked away, then back to Abby's eyes. "It's there, like the feeling that my Inner Slayer is supercharged... but fainter. Don't think I'm going to need B-man's daily injections or Angel's pig blood cocktails or anything." Faith made a face. "Thank gods... "

Abby nodded, but her eyes went distant, looking past Faith through the dojo walls. After awhile, she said: "Don't think I've ever seen you that spooked, or that shaken up before. Can't say I blame you." Her eyes came back to Faith's. "Thanks."

Faith forehead furrowed in an honestly puzzled expression. "For what?"

"Not walling me out on this."

"Ah." Faith looked away. "Gettin' tired of walling people out. Tryin' something new for a change." It came out low enough that Abby could pretend slayer hearing couldn't pick it up, if she wanted to. "So... " Faith glanced back at her. "How'd you get stuck with Faith sitting? Draw short straw?"

"Volunteered."

"That'll teach you."

"Yup. Never happen again," Abby nodded. Faith snickered and gave her an 'uh huh, sure' look. "Oh - while you were in the shower, your cop friend called. Said they'd be by in an hour or so after they wrapped some things up."

"Cool." Faith looked distracted for a moment. "Still feels wicked strange to hear 'your cop friend' in something directed at me."

"Can't say it doesn't make the back of our necks itch having O'Brien and his people know about this place." Abby shook her head. "But they proved themselves pretty thoroughly the past few days."

"O'Brien's good folks. Solid." Faith agreed. She glanced away, picking at the seam of her sweats. "Can't believe he's not blaming me over his Nikki."

"He's too busy blaming himself."

"I know that story," she nodded. She gave Abby a thoughtful look. "Can you call King and B-man, ask them to meet back here tonight? We need to get you guys, Vince, and O'Brien's people together and have a strategerizing session."

**...**

Dean worked the CD case open and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, not caring what it was. He slid the disk angrily into the changer and hit play. Old metal band: Heaven's first track came rolling out of the Impala's speakers. _'Suits,'_ he thought. _'Close enough, anyway. Getting tired of listening to radio news jockeys talking about the 'wave of terrorist attacks in Philadelphia'. Terrorists my ass.'_

"I'm going to point out the obvious here: this isn't the way to New York or Jersey." Sam had his arms folded across his chest, glowering out the window. They'd spent the first night at a motel about 70 miles outside of Philly, and gotten an early start the next morning. Except for rest stops and meal breaks, they'd been driving ever since.

"No." That got the glower directed across the car at Dean. He glanced over, "Detour to hit one of Dad's old weapon caches first, then Ohio. That Bloody Mary thing isn't going to fix itself."

"At least that O'Brien stuck all of the legal stuff back in the trunk when he had the car dropped off," Sam remarked. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and said "Thanks to Faith," at just above under-his-breath volume. He saw Dean hunch slightly, scowling, and hid a grin. If Dean wanted to be a royal dick, little Bro could play too.

"We need the heavier stuff too," was all Dean said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Still don't want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about," Dean stated in a flat tone.

"Right." Sam went back to watching the scenery go by. A few minutes later he remarked, "'Cause if there was something to talk about, that would mean you were avoiding talking about it."

Dean's knuckles clenched on the steering wheel for a moment, then he reached over and turned the volume up on the CD player. Sam reached over and turned it back down to a more conversational level, getting another glare for his troubles.

"So. Get everything squared away with the hospital and that lawyer before we took off?" Sam made the question conversational, as if he didn't really care one way or the other about the response.

The response was a long time coming, and when it did, it was almost to soft to hear over the beginning strains of Heaven's version of 'Knocking on Heaven's Door'. "No. Well... not really."

"Huh?" Sam stared at his brother. "What does 'No. Not really' translate to? You mean we're going to be dodging bill collectors and annoyed lawyers from now on?"

"No." Dean scowled again, shaking his head. "Nothing like that."

"What then?" Sam's glare was as well developed as Dean's. He studied his brother for a minute. _'Uh huh. When Dean's pissed and he won't meet my eyes, it means something's up that's not kosher'_.

"Means 'I didn't take care of it, but it's taken care of', all right?" Dean stated, white knuckling the steering wheel.

"Huh. Ok... " Sam didn't let up on the glare. "You mind unpacking that for me a bit? It's not scanning from where I sit."

"Hospital said Faith put it on her medical, ok? Gunn said not to worry about his fee - he'd square it with her." Dean shook out a cigarette and lit it. "It's taken care of - no collection agencies, no lawyer dunning."

"Right." Sam looked away, staring out the window for a few minutes again before turning his head back. "You really are a piece of work sometimes, bro, you know it?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Well... let's see." Sam grabbed the pack and shook one out for himself, lighting it and staring through the smoke. "Girl you've known for one night and a day spends several nights sitting and watching over us in the hospital, gives blood, gives me a transfusion, gets us a lawyer, and pays our hospital bills. And we're taking off in the middle of a huge brawl without even sticking around long enough to say 'thanks, now fuck off?'." Sam shook his head, "Figured it was something like this when you were in such a rush to get us checked out AMA and out of there."

"Hey! It wasn't like that." Dean's head whipped around to glare at his brother again before wrenching his attention back to the road.

"I'm curious. What was it like, then?" Sam gave his brother an infuriating smirk. "'Cause that's what it sounds like to me."

Dean gestured at the radio. "Hell - you've been listening to all of that just like me. Homeland Security, 'terrorist attacks on police and city officials', 'riots'... You really want to be stuck in a hospital room with the Philly PD looking for a scapegoat to feed to Homeland Security as a material witness set?"

Sam frowned. That was hard to argue with. He could see Major Cases getting squeezed enough over what little Dean had told him about the activities of the night before they'd left to decide to feed him and Dean to DHS along with a stack of illegal weapons charges. Those detectives, O'Brien and Giambione, seemed to like Faith enough to cover her... but that might not stop them from needing someone handy to use as a distraction. Sam settled for a sarcastic sounding "Uh huh," as a response while he thought things through.

Possibly too sarcastic - that got Dean to whip his head around again. "Uh huh? And what's that mean?" Dean said in a dangerous tone.

"Means you probably want to watch the road before we end up in another hospital, bro." Sam pointed out the windshield. Dean scowled and turned his attention back to his driving. Sam nodded thoughtfully. "So we're leaving your one night stand as a possible scapegoat instead, huh?"

"You think you could _possibly_ make that sound any more cold blooded if you worked at it a bit longer?" Dean shot back at him. "Faith has that O'Brien covering her. And Wolfram and Hart. She can take care of herself."

"Right. Did you at least call her and let her know why we were scramming out?" There was a long silence in response to that question that Sam really didn't like. "You didn't, then," he stated.

"Tried." Dean's voice was low. "Voice mail picked it up." Dean didn't say that he hadn't been able to come up with anything that he wanted to leave on the voice mail that didn't sound idiotic in his own ears, and had hung up on it.

"Guess you didn't mention to her that we'd be leaving when you guys wrapped up that night, either."

"Hadn't decided we were until I got back to the hospital and started watching the morning news." Dean said. He added, "She was probably still out of it by then, anyway." He hadn't intended for that to come out...

Sam shot him a sharp look, expression slightly incredulous. "Out of it? Faith got hurt again?"

"Not exactly," Dean said. It sounded lame even to him.

"Define 'not exactly', Dean."

"Something weird happened to her during the fight when she killed that blonde. That Blade guy and his chick carried her off the prison roof unconscious." Dean wasn't meeting Sam's eyes, which infuriated him even more.

"And you left without finding out what," Sam said, his voice flat. "_We_ left. Were you planning to mention this to me?"

"Wasn't time." Dean's jaw clenched. "Blade and that cop weren't interested in having me follow them to find out anything. Or that Gunn guy. So I headed back."

"Right." Sam shook his head again. "Pull in at the next truck stop we come to. I'm getting out."

"What?! No you're not." Dean took his eyes from the road for a quick glare at Sam. "What the hell for?"

"I'll catch up with you in Ohio later. I'm going back to Philly to sort things out and find out what happened to Faith."

"The hell you are." Dean shook his head, "Sam - we have a demon to track down and our dad to find. That's not a part of it."

"Should have figured that out before you went home with the girl, Dean. You really want to find Dad and tell him we abandoned someone who helped us out? I don't," Sam stated while giving his brother a hard look. "Either I get out up the road, or you pull over now and I get out. One way or the other."

**...**

"Five-oh!" Faith jolted up from her spot on the couch and her eyes lit up when O'Brien, Giambione, and Christine came in behind Abby. "And Detective Junior." She took a step forward, then stopped and jittered slightly in place, her hands curling at her sides.

Abby blinked. Faith didn't jitter. She paced, slouched, bounced, prowled, or stalked. She didn't 'jitter nervously', ever.

"Faith." Giambione smirked slightly at the 'Detective Junior' crack. Faith threw him a half grin, but her eyes immediately went back to searching the older detective's face.

"Kiddo." O'Brien gave her a short nod, standing relaxed in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "You look better." Whatever Faith had been searching for, she evidently found it, or didn't. She relaxed abruptly and gave him a sharp nod back.

"Kinda annoyed with you, copper. Missed seeing your sour mug first thing when I came conscious."

"Got busy."

Faith gave him the full wattage grin at that and threw herself back onto the sofa. "So I heard. And I slept through it all, again." She drew her feet up under her and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Gettin' kinda tired o' that," she remarked.

"I'd imagine," O'Brien smiled sourly back at her. "Don't worry. You didn't miss out on anything enjoyable."

"Well... considering Faith's idea of 'enjoyable'... " Giambione started and O'Brien shot him an amused glance.

"Grab yourselves a place to sit," Abby suggested. "I'll get the coffee pot and some mugs." She left them to it and headed off for the kitchen. The three detectives pulled up several of the fake wicker patio chairs that were serving as furnishings and sat.

Faith glanced over at Christine. "I'm glad you made it out with them." She paused, and then gave Christine a direct look. "I owe you an apology." Her tone made it clear that that wasn't something she said casually, and Christine nodded. "I was right that we'd run out of time... but that still was a sucky way to have to do that. I'd rather I'd of figured out a better way."

"Hindsight." Christine considered for several minutes, then shook her head. "It's done. We go on." She glanced at her partners, "You were right, anyway. I put off dealing with it for reasons that don't make as much sense in hindsight from my end."

Faith nodded and accepted a mug of coffee from Abby with a grateful look. "So... we're cool, then?"

"Yeah." Christine sipped from her mug. "Just don't do it again.," she smiled slightly to take any sting out of the words.

"Deal." Faith nodded seriously. "I promise I won't throw any more tire tools at your head from now on. Of course, that leaves knives, crowbars, short swords, shot glasses... " The corner of Faith's lips curled up in a grin and they both laughed. Faith looked at the three of them. "Ok... so, can you fill me in on what's been happening since I passed out?" She waved in the general direction of the television. "News' been a bit useless for information gathering."

O'Brien and Frank spent the next hour or so filling her in on recent events, with Christine adding details when needed. Aside from breaking off at one point to make more coffee and bring it in when it was done, Faith interrupted only for questions when she needed something clarified.

"Huh." She considered things for a time after the discussion wound down. "You guys have been busy. What happened with that Agent Whassiname? Hagerby?"

"Hagerman." Giambione shrugged. "Vaporised on us."

"It's possible that he went underground more to avoid the attention of the two DC agents that showed up," Christine interjected. "They seemed extremely interested in him."

"Right. Reyes and Doggett? 'Anomalous Crimes Division'." Faith snorted. "Sounds like something from that TV show... the X-Files?"

"Except that Doggett's no Fox Mulder." At Faith's raised eyebrow, O'Brien elaborated, "Main X-Files show agent. FBI Hollywood style. Doggett's a different breed of animal: very sharp, LEO to the core, extremely professional. So's his partner."

Nod. "Not much of a TV watcher. Think maybe I caught two-three X-Files episodes in the past five years... " Faith's eyes went distant. "So... these two work for a department that investigates BBQ-fork incidents." O'Brien snorted at the description and she grinned.

"I've heard the name," Abby put in. They all looked at her expectantly and she shrugged. "He and Reyes were involved in the postmortem investigation following that business with Drake. We kept an eye on them, but they didn't pursue it far beyond Drake's body in the morgue." Faith nodded, considering. She'd heard bits of the story from King and Abby. As far as the NYPD and FBI were concerned, Blade was dead and the Drake/Blade corpse closed out the 'vampire killer' case from the official books. "Doggett and his partner seemed straight to me. I doubt that they were fobbed off by the 'official' resolutions."

"Doggett also seemed pretty interested in you, LeHane." Giambione said. He shrugged at the sharp glance Faith threw him. "Possible material witness."

"We've listed you as an outside consultant and bystander," O'Brien added. "We covered for you. Doggett and his partner don't seem to be interested in producing any warrants or subpoenas, and Hogan made it clear that he wasn't interested in producing you without one." The 'we take care of our own' went unsaid and it was evident in his tone of voice.

"I'll talk to him. But only with Gunn present after he gets back from LA," Faith surprised them by saying. She noticed the looks. "What? I'm clear now. I don't want to have to be looking over my shoulder for the Spook Patrol everywhere I go from now on." She shrugged, "Besides: we need to know if they're Familiars, and my sensitivity's probably better than Chris'."

"All right," O'Brien gave her a judicious nod. "Let me know and we'll set it up." Faith gave him the half grin and nodded.

"So. FBI and Homeland Security. Hrmmm... " Faith considered. "Let me see your notepad, Frank. And a pen... " Giambione pulled the small notebook from his jacket and slid it over to her.

Faith thought for a few minutes, then wrote several sets of names and numbers down on a blank page and slid it back along with the pen. "There you go."

She tapped the page with a fingernail, "Top number. Call it only if you have government problems that you can't deal with through regular means. Use my name as a reference, and ask for an Agent Finn, or an Agent Graham. Give them my private cell number to use if they need to verify it with me, and they will. Don't draw on that resource lightly - it involves calling in a favor I don't like using, and I don't like getting indebted to these people. It'll also involve non-disclosure agreements and suchlike, probably."

"Government connections too?" Giambione raised his eyebrows.

"Who do you think's responsible for that black file I have?" Faith grinned, winking at him. "Don't ask... long story, and most of it isn't mine to tell." She paused, thinking, "Odds are pretty good that if the DHS is here, then this outfit is around somewhere as well."

"We already have Gunn's number." Christine said, looking at the list.

"That's his direct number, private. And Angel's. Gets you either of them without going through Wolfram and Hart's phone lines." Faith gave O'Brien a serious look. "I set things up with Gunn and Angel before we headed out that last night. If you're going to be going up against this stuff... a point may come where you'll need some serious legal firepower. Don't hesitate to call it in if you need to. But - DON'T sign any contracts, and make sure you have a competent outside lawyer that's not connected in any way to Wolfram and Hart look over any documents thoroughly."

"You sound like you don't trust them," O'Brien gave her a curious look.

"I trust Angel and Gunn implicitly. And Wes, and Angel's personal people." Faith frowned. "I don't trust Wolfram and Hart any farther than I can throw their skyscraper, or less. Angel and Gunn will take care of things off the books and off the records, if at all possible, or they'll direct you to someone trustworthy who can." The 'we take care of our own' was implicit in her voice as it had been in O'Brien's earlier, and he nodded.

"The last?" The question came from Christine.

"New International Watcher's Council. You'll be meeting them along with your partners after I've had a chance to call Vi and set things up." Faith refilled her coffee from the insulated pot and leaned back with a sigh. "They own the school I worked for up until... huh. It's only been a month, month and a half ago? Jeeze... feels like longer."

"It's been an intense month and a half, if the last few weeks are any indication," O'Brien suggested.

"That it has." Faith nodded. "Ok." She gave Christine a direct look, "There's a lot of things I didn't have a chance to lay out for you earlier. Now's the time, I guess... The IWC considers themselves responsible for locating and managing the newly Awakened slayers around the world. Providing training, assistance, resources, etc... 'Responsible' is a good word for it. I'll explain that in detail if you want, after we get the basics out of the way." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "In addition to being a weapons and hand-to-hand instructor, I was one of the people responsible for finding newer slayers and explaining to them what happened and what their options were now."

"You came here to locate me for these people?" Christine gave her a hard look.

"I said 'was'. I don't work for the IWC any more. I came here to try and locate some of my family background, like I told O'Brien and his partner." Faith considered, then shook her head. "Let me back up a bit. That wasn't completely honest... " She frowned, "I do contract work for them on occasion now. Have to see how that's going to work out... I contracted to locate a newly discovered slayer here in Philly as long as I was going to be in the area for awhile dealing with our blonde vampire problem."

"Which would be me," Christine was regarding her with a wary and slightly irritated expression.

"Which _turned ou_t to be you." Faith nodded. "More or less happy accident. I was sent a list of several "Christine Meadows" and "C. Meadows" in this city to check on, but you weren't one of them... Suppose to be thorough I should follow up on those just to be sure. Odds of there being _two_ newly awakened slayers in Philly by that name are kinda slim, I'd think, but... " Faith shrugged. "I didn't realize you were probably it until you were introduced to me at the blood factory scene and I felt the ping."

"Ping?" Chris raised an eyebrow. Faith noticed that both O'Brien and Giambione were staying out of the discussion for now, as was Abby.

"Kind of like what you felt from the demons and vampires the other night. Only different." Faith made a vague gesture and pushed her hair back from her face with one hand. "Some of us can sense other slayers by the slayer essence in them. Been told that not all of us can... I seem to have the talent."

Christine nodded. "A list? How do they go about coming up with newly awakened slayers to check out?"

"Hrrm." Faith frowned. "You're going to have to ask them if you want the technical details. I usually zone out part way into the explanations. Some of it's research: looking through news reports for indicators and suchlike. Sometimes magic, but that's not reliable. Sometimes tips; sometimes rumours in the demonic communities." She shook her head, "Never bothered with it before. Was more a 'Where to and what do I look for?' type."

"So now that you've located me, you're going to turn me in to the IWC?" The older slayer's expression was hard for Faith to read - Christine had her version of the cop mask fully in place now.

"Faith has a tendency to not do things that way," Abby stated. She shot Faith an amused look. "It causes her trouble with them from time to time."

"One way to put it," Faith agreed. One of these days she was going to have to try to pry out some details from Abby on her discussions with the IWC... "Not 'turn in'. Explain things to you, give you the contact names and numbers, and introduce you to them." She regarded Christine evenly. "The last is kinda unavoidable now since there's several of them here poking into what went down a few days ago, and they're a part of the 'set things up so you guys can keep a lid on this' solution I'd mentioned."

The blonde detective nodded. "What happens then?"

"That's going to be kind of up to you and your partners, I think." Faith gave her a considering look, "Usual is to make the new slayer an offer to join one of the schools for training and assign them a Watcher if needed. Or let them know what's available and what the risks are if they decide they don't want any part of things. Or their families don't... " Faith paused. "You're not a fourteen to seventeen year old girl who's just found out she can throw a three hunnert pound bodybuilder across the room, though. You're a trained and experienced cop with combat skills who already has support people and resources to draw on."

"Thirty six," Christine smiled for the first time since Faith had started discussing this with her. At Faith's raised eyebrow she said, "Not a fourteen to seventeen year old. I'm thirty six going on thirty seven."

"I thought you were thirty two, Chris?" O'Brien's eyebrows went up.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Christine smirked. "Obie.. the only time you remember birth dates is when you read them on an arrest report or a suspect's jacket." O'Brien had the grace to look embarrassed when Faith and Giambione snickered at that.

"She's got you there, Five-oh. That's how you remembered mine." Faith smirked.

"Watcher?" That was from Giambione.

"Watcher." Faith nodded, returning to the topic. "Kinda the Slayer Support staff. A Watcher does research and finds out things about whatever supernatural crisis is at hand, and helps the Slayer deal with it. In theory, and usually in practice." Faith looked back to Christine, noticing that she seemed more relaxed and the cop face had mosty dropped away. Mostly. "That's probably the main benefit you'd get out of the association. You bring a lot of investigative skills and resources to the table, but as you probably guessed from the other night... the research skills involved with this are kinda specialized."

"Who's yours?" Christine raised an eyebrow at her after a short nod to concede the point.

"Officially? Don't have one - I'm probably considered to have gone rogue by now." Faith grinned. "Unofficially? Wesley Price. Who isn't a member of the IWC any more than I am now, and it'd probably scandalize a lot of people if they heard me say he was my Watcher."

"Why'd you quit?" Giambione asked. Faith resisted giving him a surprised look. She knew O'Brien had heard parts of the story during their discussion - she'd figured he'd have passed them on to his partner. Evidently not.

Faith poured some more coffee and sat back again, staring through the wall for several minutes. "Came to a parting of the ways." She looked at Giambione. "You'd asked me a month or so back an' - if I didn't tell you to piss off - I'd have said that I needed some space to figure some things out. Now... " She shook her head, "Thinking on it, I'm starting to figure out I've got some... philosophical differences with them."

"Such as... ?" Christine asked.

Faith shook her head, her eyes distant. "I get it all sorted out in my head, I'll let you know. Or at least, I'll let O'Brien know." She gave the older cop a slight smile. "Just say... the Old Watcher's Council used to view the Slayer - there was only one at a time back then - as a disposable weapon. Aim, fire, discard when killed. No big deal: new one will be called afterward. All of that changed when the Old Council was blown up and most of their members were hunted down and killed by demonic agents." She took a drink of coffee, thinking, "The New Council is determined to rebuild differently without doing things the way the old one did. I just have reservations on how well they'll be able to do that, and if it'll really turn out different. I've gotten to be kind of an expert on how hard it is to change old mindsets." Faith smiled ruefully.

Faith shrugged and continued, "Doesn't help that there's a lot of history between me and a lot of the movers and shakers in the IWC that makes trust not come easy. A lot of that history my fault," her eyes darkened.

"But still, you listed them on the contacts list," O'Brien stated.

"Yeah. Chris shouldn't have to join the IWC for you guys to work together," Faith said. "If I can get Vi to agree with what I have in mind, then that'll get a team of slayers assigned here with some Watcher support, and that'll be a big help in enforcing that 'Vampire Free City' thing."

"If not?" Chris asked.

"Then it'll be up to you guys," Faith looked at Abby and the others in turn to emphasize she was including Abby's people in the 'you guys', "and Vince, and Gunn. And you'' have to work out not getting in each other's way with Vi's people." She shrugged again. "Not optimal, but it could break that way." Faith paused, looking at O'Brien thoughtfully... "We need to all get together tonight with Hogan and the rest of your people, here, and have a... hrrm. Started to say 'Council of war', but I'd rather not give the Universe any bad ideas."

"Strategy and brainstorming session?" Giambione suggested.

"Works. Let's run with that one."

**...**

Explaining the background of the Old Watcher's Council history and why the new one had to be rebuilt took some time, considering it involved backtracking to The First and how all of the Slayers became awakened. Even with paring things down to the minimum, and with Abby relating her impressions of the new IWC, it was still late afternoon by the time they wrapped up and Giambione and Christine wandered off on their own pursuits.

O'Brien stayed after, ostensibly for the invitation to a late lunch with her and Abby. They settled on hoagies from the kitchen's well stocked supply of cold cuts and sliced meat in lieu of cooking.

"I think we're corrupting you, O'Brien," Faith joked. "You're starting to look comfortable relaxing with hoods, vampire hunters, demonic mobsters, and ex-cons."

"I'll have you know that cops tend to spend more time with the criminal element usually than we do with normal people," he returned the bantering tone and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

Faith laughed. "I'm glad you made it through ok," she added in a more serious tone.

"You too." O'Brien said. "You're going to have to stop getting carried away unconscious from fights."

"I told Faith you'd been by to check on her," Abby stated. She studied the older detective curiously. O'Brien wasn't exactly the kind of friend she would have expected Faith to acquire, and yet the connection between the two of them was unmistakable.

"Before we get sidetracked again," O'Brien reached into his jacket and took an envelope from his inner pocket and set it on the table in front of Faith. "An envelope with this inside was given to one of the nurses at the hospital for me with instructions to make certain it got to you." He met her curious look with a shrug, "The younger Winchester left it."

"Huh." Faith picked it up slowly, turning it in her hands, a line between her eyebrows. The front of the envelope simply had 'Faith' written on it in pen with a nice hand. She tried to remember if she'd ever told Sam her last name, and the answer honestly escaped her. Unopened - O'Brien obviously hadn't looked at it, not that'd she'd expected he would. She opened it carefully and pulled out a single sheet of unlined paper.

_"Faith -_

Looks like we're leaving in a bit of a hurry, so since I didn't get your cell number, I hope this gets to you. I'm writing this in a bit of a hurry while Dean's handling the checkout stuff, so excuse the handwriting.

I'm not certain what happened between you and Dean. What little I've been able to pry out of him tells me you had words of some kind. I'm not certain if that's connected to him being in such a rush to take off. He says that it's because of all of the federal interest coming down on this city according to the news reports on last nights 'riots' and 'terrorist incidents', but there's something else under there too. I remember that you two had differences of opinion on methods earlier...

Whatever.

Look. I know you said that one can't apologize for other people, only for oneself. Be that as it may, Dean's my brother and covering his rear comes with the territory. Even when that means apologizing for him when I think he's being a bit of an ass. So... whatever is up, accept my apologies. I'm sorry that we're not sticking around to see how things work out, and I'm sorry that we're not going to be there to help cover your back.

I want to thank you again for everything that you've done for us. You may not think it's any big deal, but it is. You didn't have to stick around and you definitely didn't have to do all of the extra things you did, from the lawyer to the blood donations. It's definitely greatly appreciated, and it goes a bit beyond simply 'paying it forward' in my books.

If there's ever anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask.

Take care of yourself, Faith, and be well.

Sincerely,  
Sam Winchester"

There was a cell phone number at the bottom under the signature. Faith folded the note with equal care and put it back in the envelope, blinking rapidly for some reason.

"Huh." The corner of Faith's lips curled up in a slight smile. "Think I may have gone for the wrong Winchester," she said. "That'll teach me."


	29. Chapter 29: Interludes 2pt 0

**Chapter 29: **_**"Conversational Interludes 2.0 - Objects in the mirror may be closer than you care for..."**_

Faith scrolled through the list of missed calls on her phone, frowning. Outside of the messages from Vi that she'd already returned, there was nothing there she really wanted to bother with except for one...

ring click "Faith?"

"Hey D."

"Hey! What's going on? Got kind of worried... " Dawn's voice sounded concerned.

"Usual. Fell over at the end of the big fight scene, been out of it for the past couple o' days." Faith sighed, "Gettin' kinda tiresome."

"I'll bet. You all right?" Dawn paused, "What happened?"

"Huh. Long story... you busy, or you have time to talk?" Faith settled in a bit more comfortably.

"Have time, have phone, have attention span. Shoot."

"Cool." Faith proceeded to fill her friend in on the events since the last call they'd shared, interrupted only by Dawn's occassional questions for details.

"You're getting trickier," Dawn said, finally. "Was a time you'd have just charged in."

"Get older, you adapt." Faith laughed softly. "Charging in almost got me killed by the Beast, once. And blown up in Sunnydale. Tryin' not to make the same mistakes more'n twice."

"Ha. Good plan." Dawn's voice was thoughtful. "So... the vamp attacked you in your head after Abby took her down? And you passed out, hard... ?"

"That's the basic."

"Heh. And the long version is... ?"

"Complicated." Faith paused, "Can we save that one for a future conversation? Gots a lot I need to sort out from that. It's... hard to describe."

"Sure. As long as we have the future conversation." Dawn agreed. "Huh. Rest of it explains what little I've gleaned from the on-line news and various sources."

"Gleaned?" Faith frowned, "Figured Vi would have filled you in via reports?"

"Naw. Kind of out of the loop over here." Dawn said. "Whatever reports Vi's made are probably going directly to Giles."

"Watcher Girl's out of the loop? That sounds... odd."

"Not so much. And not 'Watcher Girl', yet." Dawn cleared her throat, "Student. Buffy's sister. Research assistant. Translator Girl. Not really a part of the Inner Circle yet."

"Crap, D. That _sucks_." Faith was shocked. "Knew B was overprotective, but I figured you had more going on in the rebuilding thing than 'Translator Girl'."

"No big. Sound of me shrugging," Dawn stated. "Have gathered from around that there's discussions over the amount of human damage there."

"Huh." Faith processed that for a bit. "Not so much in human casualties. Vampire Familiars and Ghouls... I told you about the blood factory earlier."

"Yeah. Ugly." Dawn's voice was quiet. "Since you were down, you were out of it for all of that stuff?"

"Yeah. Can't say the idea of vamp enablers getting theirs bugs me, but I'm happy that part got left to O'Brien's people and the others." Faith replied. "Don't like killing humans even if they are Familiars."

"Good. You don't need to go back there," Dawn's voice was relieved. "Not that I thought you would."

"I know." Faith grinned. "But." She paused, thinking... "Huh. Discussions, eh?"

"Haven't you talked to Vi yet?"

"Yeah. We set up a meet for tomorrow." Faith frowned. "Ok... explains why they wanted to have it at a Council Safe House, I'll bet. And why they didn't care for it when I insisted on the Marriott's conference room. Thanks, D."

"Me? I didn't say anything." She could hear the grin in the other girl's voice.

"Right." Faith snickered, "But you didn't say a mouthful."

"Not me. Nope." Dawn laughed. "Hey - I'm glad you called me," she added.

"Yeah, hey - can't leave my bud hanging too long, right?" Faith grinned, then added, "Look... I need to process some of this. Mind if we pick this up again later?"

"No worries." Dawn replied. "Umm... try to stay conscious for awhile, huh?"

"Brat." Faith laughed. "Will do." She hung up and closed the phone gently, thinking.

Everything done that could be done for now, she finally managed to fall into a restless and wired early sleep. And naturally, fallen headlong into the Dreamways again. Figures...

**...**

_Standing in the apartment Wilkins had given her back when, looking out the wreck of the big window she used to love. Last time she was here in a dream, it'd been just after Buffy had jumped to her death from Glory's tower and her and Ghost-B had had a weird (weird even for the dreamways weird) dream __conversation over B's death, Dawn, and Keys. Those nights had been filled with endless dreams of free-falling into infinite darkness, never hitting bottom before jerking abruptly awake..._

_She lifted a hand and ran it gently over the wrecked window frame, careful of the shards of glass. "Wonder if this is ever gonna get fixed in here?"_

_"Maybe if someone would cease waiting for the carpenter and do some of their own repairs," a voice said from behind her. "It would be." Faith turned casually, half expecting to see Echo-Buffy despite the difference in voices._

_"Elora," Faith said, without a trace of warmth in her tone. "Bad enough having one bubbleheaded blonde echo in my head - I have to have two now?"_

_"You were the one that choked me down despite my best efforts," the former slayer turned vampiress remarked. "Allow me the minor vengeance of troubling your sleep like a bit of undigested spiced fowl," Elora smiled easily and turned back to the closet._

_"Like I have a choice?" Faith shook her head with a sour expression, and wandered over. She noted in passing the second bed next to the first and quirked an eyebrow. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the framed picture over each bed. Two glamour head shots from left and right angles... herself in different outfits, only looking more gorgeous than she'd ever imagined was possible._

_"Choices made, all you have to do is live with them. Choose, and choose again - and yet un-Chosen they're not." There was a rustle of hangers from the closet and the blonde turned gracefully, eyes alight. "There." She clapped her hands."Big sister's almost ready to step into little sis's clothes." She stepped aside, turning and gesturing like a bizarre parody of a real estate sales-lady showing off the closet space._

_Faith stepped over to take a look, curious in spite of herself. One half of the big walk in was filled with stuff that looked like hers: leathers, dark jeans, midriff tops and t-shirts. The other... the other side held things that she could see herself looking good in, but never buying for herself. Sexy, yet softer and more stylish items. Casual and more... girly, somehow. Several pairs of jeans, and lots of tees in brighter colors than faith favored these days._

_She shook her head, running a hand over a dark blouse. "Little sis has tastes more like Cordelia."_

_A rumble of thunder drew her attention back to the window. She looked over her shoulder, surprised to see how quickly it had darkened both within and without. "Storm is coming," Elora commented._

_"No shit, Sherlock." Faith turned to face the window. "Obvious, much?"_

_"Sometimes that's what it seems to take," the blonde replied with a slight smirk. Faith found a half grin curling up the corner of her lips almost against her will. She moved slowly back to the broken window beside Elora, glancing at the two beds as they passed._

_"Moving in, huh?" Faith shook her head. "Make yerself at home."_

_"Not for me," the blonde's eyes looked... sad? Faith noted. "I have the unwelcome guest room."_

_"Ok... " She looked out the window over what used to be Sunnydale, frowning at the thunderheads piling up in the distance. "Man. Don't want to be standing here when that breaks. Gonna be a monster."_

_"Yes." Elora nodded. "And you'll be the one to break it."_

_"Huh." Faith's mouth twisted slightly. "Ever mention to you that I hate this cryptic prophesy shit?" She made a negating gesture, "Never mind. Doubt it's your fault, anyway."_

_Motion and color caught Faith's eye, drawing her gaze to the building roof across the street where a massive screen was showing a film of some sort, like one of those building TV's in some sci-fi show. Her eyes narrowed, noting the screen was divided into three parts, three separate sets of scenes. Herself... herself... and some dark haired woman she'd never seen before. She found herself reminded oddly of Harmony's bank of infinite lives... then something else about them caught her attention._

_"They're all moving backwards," Faith raised her hand, pointing at the monitor. "Like running a DvD in reverse."_

_Elora nodded solemnly. "One and one are thricefold, catseye blinks three into one, and stormbreaker shapes the flow upon itself breaking all. Powers walk the winds and all the Queen's horses can't close the gates behind them."_

_Faith stared at her, eyebrows raised, "Don't suppose you'd care to drop more of a hint on the short bus student?"_

_Elora shook her head, smiling. "Not necessary. You're never as slow as you pretend, and you always find your hints where you need them."_

_"You're almost as annoying as Drusilla," Faith remarked. A sudden crash of lightning, distant and yet sounding like it was right outside the window made them both jump. "Whoa. Nice," Faith grinned at the taller blonde. "Always did like a good thunderstorm."_

_"I suspect you'll love riding this one." Elora nodded. The rooftop TV went dark along with the city lights in the wake of the lightning._

_"So... " Faith examined her new mind roomie carefully. "Guess I'm stuck with you now, for keeps?" The other woman nodded just as carefully, her eyes dark. "Don't suppose you'd care to just quietly integrate into the back of my head, no fuss, no muss?"_

_"No." Elora gave a musical laugh. "I plan to be a royal bitch about it. Kicking and screaming all the way."_

_"Figures," Faith laughed as well, finding herself oddly pleased with that. "Can't say I blame you. Went the other way, I'd of been a royal pain in your brain as well."_

_"I know," Elora grinned. "It would have been interesting." She lifted an eyebrow, "As it is... you have a lot to learn from what's left of me. And from others."_

_"Like how to ride the storms?" Faith quirked her eyebrows back at her former adversary.  
__  
"Among other things," Elora nodded. "Those whom the gods would destroy... " The room and the blonde slayer-vampiress began to fade around her as Elora's words trailed off..._

_"... they first make mad,"_ Faith murmured, then her eyes flew open. "Fucking wonderful. Been there, gots the ticket stub and the hand stamp. No thanks." She rolled over and looked at her small travel clock, and then rolled out of bed and onto her feet. Not likely she was going to want to go back to sleep for awhile...

**...**

Blade was laying out a hand of solitaire on the lounge coffee table when Faith wandered in trailing her guitar from one hand. "Can't sleep?" He glanced up as she plopped onto the sofa, guitar on her lap.

"More like 'don't want to'," she stated.

"You've been sleeping for days, yeah," he nodded slightly. She flashed him a grin at the out he'd offered her.

"Yeah, that too," she agreed. Blade raised an eyebrow slightly in invitation, but Faith shook her head. "Talked out for now. Later, maybe?"

He nodded. "Poker?"

"Spades?" Faith set the guitar aside carefully, and slid over to the table.

"Sure." Blade gathered in the cards and began shuffling.

Hannibal wandered in, yawning. "Can't sleep either?" Faith asked.

"Nope. All this commotion in here keeping me up," King smirked back. He went into the kitchen and came back out a few minutes later with a couple of coffee cups, handed one to Faith. "Poker?"

"Spades."

"Cool." King took a seat at an open end of the table, "Deal me in."

**...**

(Day 16, _Saturday, December 20, 2003_)

_'Deep breath, Faith. You can do this,'_ Faith couldn't help an involuntary sigh as she got out of the SUV any more than she could the reflexive glance to the top of the Marriott parking garage that Elora had sniped at her from. Hard to believe how nervous she was about this. Faith felt she should be used to the feeling by now... _nervous_ seemed to be gettin' to be her middle name. Not happening though: she wasn't. Hell. She could deal with cops. She dealt with prison. She dealt with facing down a vampire prince and his court. She even dealt with having to be the one to tell scary-ass _Blade_ that she's one of the reasons his adopted little sister is a slayer...

So why does facing a Council Representative and a room full of other slayers for a post-op briefing make her want to run-not-walk out the nearest door and vaporise?

_'Unresolved issues, much, Faith?'_ Went through her head, bringing out a reluctant half grin. _'Naw, not much.'_

"Nervous? You?" Abby gave her a mock astonished look as the three of them headed in. Faith's expression grew wry.

"Moi? Ha!" She snickered. "Can walk into a bar full of demons, find the toughest thing in there and stare it down. But going to pow wow with my former co-workers makes me squirrelly." Faith rolled her eyes, "Shows that much, huh?"

"Nah." Abby gives her a measuring look and shakes her head. "Someone blind who doesn't know you would never be able to tell."

snicker "There's the answer - we'll poke their eyes out first."

"Extreme, but effective." Abby's ready grin flashed at her.

"Yeah. But... no. I'll be ok." Faith shakes her head. "Need to learn how to do this sometime. May as well be now."

"Worst demons are the ones in our heads," Christine remarked from Faith's left. At Faith's sideways look she added, "Something Obie said once."

"Tell him thanks ever so," Faith shook her head. "Rather have my demons outside where I can put steel to 'em." She nodded after a moment, "He's right, though." She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, smoothing her jacket and unconsciously brushing a hand behind her hip where the hilt of her sword should fall - and didn't.

Christine caught the gesture and smiled. "Feeling half dressed? It's a meeting with your former associates - not a raid on a demon bar." Faith was wearing a more businesslike version of her usual leather ensemble: dressy leather slacks, shirt, and jacket rather than full length coat and combat leathers. HD dress style boots rather than her usual kickers.

Faith snickered with a rueful expression, "Been remiss. Remind me to fill you in on my other dealings with the former Watcher's Council." She shook her head, "The two _ain't_ always that far apart."

They were silent the rest of the way in and down the halls to the escalators. On the second floor, Faith didn't need Abby's soft "_My my,_" or Christine's slight stiffening to alert her to the two slayers flanking the doors to the conference room. She felt them, along with the others before they were halfway up. Faith nodded. "Show time," she murmured back.

Both girls were hard eyed and relaxed, slouching either side of the doors like a pair of lionesses. Eyes flicked across the three women walking up to them casually, noting hidden weapons and carriages. The dark haired, doe eyed girl to the right of the doors nodded easily with a slight smile. "Faith." Both girls had earpieces in marking their comm links.

"Liss'. Rachel," Faith nodded back, coming to a stop just slightly beyond step-and-reach distance. "I see Vi brought the first team, hey?" The auburn haired girl to the left returned the nod. Faith noted the large gear bag by her feet and narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Faith," Rachel said. "Looking good." She stepped forward slightly, one hand out. "Going to need to take ya'll's weapons before you go in," the Dallas girl added.

Faith glanced down at the hand curiously, then back up to the Texas girl's eyes. A slow smile came across her lips and she said, "You're going to want to pull that hand in and rethink that before it comes off at the shoulder." The dark haired girl, Lissette, went suddenly unrelaxed at that, straightening slightly.

"Rather not let you go in armed, Faith," Lissette said.

Faith shrugged, still smiling. "Cool. Then we back up and head out the way we came in, and you guys can have your meeting without us." She gave a slight nod, nonthreatening, "Have fun."

_"Two at four,"_ Abby murmured from behind and slightly at Faith's left still. Faith nodded again slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Maybe you should have a word with Vi, Rachel" she suggested. "Else this is gonna get loud and real abrupt, real fast." The slow smile went to a full grin that didn't quite touch the eyes. "And we won't be the ones with the cop problems after it does." She tamped down firmly on the Elora part of her mind that relished the idea of a confrontation and locked it away. _'Amateur hour,'_ she thought. _'Abby and I were really here for shit, there'd be a blur, loud noise, and four corpses on the ground. Someone needs to mention to Vi and G that the 21st century is here.'_

Rachel locked eyes with her for several long moments, studying her. After a bit, her eyes flicked over Christine, noting the blonde woman's stance and the shield case hooked onto her waistband. She nodded once, finally, then nodded past Faith's shoulder and stepped back, hand going to her earpiece.

Faith took a step back as well and waited.

"All right, go on in as is," Rachel said after a few moments. She shrugged and gave Faith a 'no hard feelings' look.

"Works," Faith gave a slight nod. Her voice came out low and amused, "Can open the doors for us and go in ahead. Open 'em all the way back - give you something to do with your hands." A hard look came into the other girl's eyes at that and her chin came up slightly. Faith met her eyes evenly and held them, "Only way it's happening, Tex. I decide to leave, and you and the two mini-slays behind won't even slow us down."

"Never thought you were one to run, Boston," Rachel's head cocked slightly as the younger girl studied her.

_'Don't do this, Tex. You __really__ don't want to go there,'_ Faith projected, meeting the other girl's eyes. Anyone who thought testosterone poisoning was an exclusively male domain needed to spend time studying slayer dynamics. Didn't help that with rare exceptions like Christine and Abby, the typical newly called slayer was usually in their mid-to-late teens. Take the normal hormonal imbalances and insecurities associated with teenagerhood, and then throw in a sudden massive surge of sheer power and predator essence - and stand way back. Working with other slayers was less personal interaction than pride dynamics. _'Not even pride dynamics: we're solitary hunters. Another slayer is automatically challenge or competition,'_ Faith thought. _'Makes sense that the exceptions are people like Abby and Chris who're used to working in group or pack settings.'_

"Good you didn't think that, Tex," Faith stepped forward, eyes narrowing and the old could-give-a-fuck grin sliding across her lips. "I'm not." The younger girl's eyes widened, just slightly, as Faith crowded into her personal space and let the slayer essence in her rise fully up to the surface. Rachel swallowed slightly, involuntarily, possibly remembering past training sessions with the darker slayer. _'That's right, kid. You're not top predator in the room, and neither your backup by the escalators nor your partner can move fast enough to stop me. Back the fuck up, good girl.'_

She thought for a moment that either Rachel or Lissette was going to push it anyway... and then the Texan took another step back and opened the doors with an exaggerated invitational movement. She and her partner went in ahead of Faith's small entourage, pushing the doors back all the way to the wall.

Faith nodded and went in past, eyes sweeping the conference room and noting with amusement the small gathering inside. Having met Rachel and Lissette outside, seeing the four other members of the Wild Bunch inside the conference room didn't surprise her, nor the presence of Kori Ishikawa, their defacto leader now. There was a slight twinge - ruthlessly suppressed for now - that once her instinctive thought would have been '_Faith's_ Wild Bunch'. No more, she guessed... have to get used to thinking of them as 'Kori's' now. She gave a short nod to the Japanese-American slayer from Miami. Likewise, she'd expected Vi's presence... but the other member of the entourage was a surprise.

"Vi." She threw the red headed woman a smile, receiving a nod and a return grin, albeit a small one. "Giles!" Faith's eyes lit at the sight of the older man. "Figured you'd be long back in London by now?"

"Faith," the Brit gave her a nod and a small smile. "No, not quite. I've been... still a bit wrapped up in overseeing the transition of administrations in the New York school, I'm afraid."

Faith caught the sidelong and bemused glance that Vi shot him at that. "Uh huh. Translated: you been puttering about getting under Vi's feet for the past week or so and joggling her elbows," Faith sent him a bemused look of her own. "Mostly becuz yer enjoying bein' in the field more than bein' stuck in Watcher's HQ gradin' papers and changing Andrew's nappies." Giles' presence explained that of Reginald Pemberton's; one of the current Council's more powerful and rising Warlocks. The young mage-slash-bodyguard was one of Giles' constant companions whenever the older man left Council grounds these days.

"I beg your pardon?" Giles stared at her. "Preposterous. I'll have you know that there's an enormous amount of work to be done... " He broke off glaring at Faith and Vi's understanding expressions and removed his glasses to begin his reflexive polishing ritual.

"Uh huh." Faith nodded somberly. "And you're in Philly because... ?"

"He said something about not allowing us to head down here without Proper Watcher Supervision," Vi stated.

"Oh, bollocks." Giles gave both of them a pained look that almost - but not quite - disguised the slight smile he was carefully hiding. "Fine. Quite. Have it your way. I will admit that I am finding it refreshing to indulge the inexplicable taste for field work I somehow managed to acquire during my previous tenure."

Faith stared at him for a moment, then looked at Vi with her eyebrows raised.

"He said that he is rather enjoying getting his hands dirty out here," Vi translated.

"Ah. Quite," Faith shook her head, giving Giles a look of mixed exasperation and affection. "Coulda just said so, G." She grinned at his expression and added, "Good to see you, even under the circumstances." Giles acknowledged that with a slight nod, putting his glasses back on.

Vi motioned for Rachel and Lissette to take their positions outside again, pulling the doors closed behind them. Faith took a position standing by the conference table across from Vi and Giles with her trio. She pulled out a chair and turned it, propping a foot on it and leaning forward with an elbow across her knee, Chris and Abby standing on either side of her. "Have a seat," Vi invited.

"I'm comfy," Faith stated. "Ok... first things first." She accepted a briefcase from Christine and set it opened on the table. Taking out a pair of CD cases, she set them across the table before Vi and Giles. "Elora Ménard. Kindrel Vampire, assassin, former Slayer. Cross her off the books and put paid to her. You'll find digital copies of a number of gaps in the Watcher's Journals from her time period on those CDs."

Giles gave her a long look, then nodded. "You managed to finalize her then?"

Faith shook her head. "Abby killed her. I set her up for it. Blade, King, Vince, and O'Brien's people dealt with her minions and backup. Joint effort all the way." She paused, "We managed to recover at least a part of her remains. I'm making arrangements to have her family located and the remains shipped to them for proper burial."

"I see. Is there any assistance we can provide in that?" At Faith's negative gesture Giles picked up one of the CD cases. "And the source of these, for verification purposes?"

"Naw. You don't get that." Faith shrugged. "Verify them with whatever sources you have or care to, cross reference them with other records, take them at face value, or round file them. Up to you." She ignored the slightly shocked intake of breath from one of the younger slayers at the perceived discourtesy to Giles' status.

"Without knowing the source and its veracity," Pemberton said, "It makes it difficult to judge the authenticity of these... records." Faith turned an expressionless gaze on him. His precise tone and dandified appearance reminded her far too much of Wesley Price in his original prissy incarnation for her to ever have warmed to Reginald. Further, he was from old Watcher family stock, as he'd taken pains to establish when Giles had located him. Not something geared to endearing him to Faith...

"Pity, that. Guess you'll be round filing them then." Faith dismissed him utterly from consideration and turned her regard back to Giles and Vi. "Second, but not least: Giles, Vi - meet Detective Christine Meadows, recently awakened Slayer. Cristine, Dr. Rupert Giles of the International Watchers Council, and Vi Sorenson of the Kendra Young School for Gifted Women." She met Giles' eyes and held them for a moment, "Christine's been filled in on her abilities and what they entail, as well as on the IWC et cetera." She received a slight nod from Giles before he turned his attention to the blonde detective. 'Contract filled, Giles,' she thought. 'Now we move on to the good stuff.'

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Meadows." Giles inclined his head in greeting rather than stand and lean over and across the conference table to shake hands. "I'm certain that we'll have a great deal to discuss once our other business here is concluded."

"Possibly." Christine returned the nod courteously, but kept a noncommittal expression. "I'm certainly willing to hear you and Ms. Sorenson out." She paused a moment, "Any extended discussions will have to take place with the rest of my squad present, however."

"That would be more than somewhat irregular," Pemberton interjected. "Discussions between the Watcher's Council and Slayers is business best kept between the parties concerned."

"That's going to go over well," Abby remarked, drawing a sharp look from Pemberton.

Giles gestured sharply, cutting across whatever rejoinder Reginald had in mind. "Quite. We'll work that out as needs be, Ms. Meadows. While we have more than a few reservations over involving civil authorities in the supernatural," he raised his hand forestalling interruption, "You'll find that we are amenable to working with the established support that new slayers have already in place." Christine relaxed slightly, nodding.

"Especially when that established support is already somewhat aware of the supernatural and will be attempting to deal with it regardless of the Watcher's Council's views on the matter?" Faith quirked a half grin, ignoring Pemberton's dark look and enjoying Giles' slightly exasperated one.

"More a matter of accepting when a fait accompli has been engineered and there's little to be done about it, Faith." Giles' expression was bland.

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission, G." Faith's return grin was unrepentant. "And O'Brien and Hogan's Major Cases Squad were doing their best to deal with a vamp infested city long before I dropped in their laps or our little Sunnydale party dropped the slayer bomb on Christine here. And doing so with no knowledge of exactly what they were dealing with or how to go about it." She met Giles and Vi's gazes evenly. "Doing so without flinching away or going into denial, either, like a few other people I remember once did."

"You seem to be taking a rather cavalier approach to engineering a situation that can have a profound impact on everyone involved, Miss LeHane," Pemberton stated.

Faith looked across the table at him. "Nah. I'm treating it with all of the gravity it deserves, Reggie." There was a pregnant moment while he proccessed that and came to her intended meaning. Christine grinned and Abby snickered as his face darkened.

"Now see here... " Pemberton began. Vi caught his eye and shook her head.

"Enough, Reginald. When Faith is baiting you, lunging for the hook like a starving bass isn't the way to deal with it." Vi suppressed a smile and shook her head at Faith. "You have to admit, Faith, the arrangement that you proposed over the phone with me is a major change in the way that we prefer to do things."

"Shrug. Better get used to it, Vi, Giles." Faith stated. "I remember sitting in on a lot of meetings several months ago where the phrase 'The Rules have changed!' was bandied about freely. We didn't just change the _rules_. We kicked over the table, broke out a new deck, and dealt out a brand new _game_ - while leaving all of the pieces of the old table and the previous cards scattered across the room." She regarded the red haired slayer and Giles, "We just didn't think it through all the way."

"And you have?" Pemberton asked in a dry tone. The three women looked at him from across the table.

"At the time? No more than anyone else did," Faith stated. "But I'm working on catching up on my thinking, fast. Gettin' tired of having things bite me in the ass when I don't expect them." She glanced at Giles and nodded, and turned back to the mage. "Chris didn't ask for us to gift her with slayerdom. But now that she's in, she's not going away, and you're not going to separate her from her partners, I don't think. You guys decide to not adapt and deal, they're going to go ahead dealing with things as best they can with whatever resources come to hand - and they'll do it without you. Just as Abby and Blade's people will." She turned her gaze back to Giles, "Just as Xander and the rest of the Scoobies would have if you'd taken B and left the 'Dale to its own devices... as they _did_ when B ran off to LA for several months." Giles nodded.

"The Watcher's Council and the Slayer have always been the front line in dealing with the supernatural for millennia," Reginald stated.

"And you've done such a good job at it, too." Faith said, deadpan.

"My father was on that front line for decades," Abby interjected before Pemberton could respond to Faith's gibe. "He died on it. Blade's been on it since he was a teenager. King was a casualty of it long before he started fighting the war. I've been on it long before I was Called." She gave him a hard look, "High as my regard for Faith and any number of slayers I've met is, neither the Watcher's Council nor the Slayer has a lock on that front line. You don't get to have it all to yourself." She snorted, "You never did: you just managed to delude yourself into believing it."

Faith cocked her head slightly, watching Pemberton's face darken. Interesting shade of maroon Abby had him developing there.

"We've been having to deal with what our department calls 'serial exsanguination murders' for almost ten years now," Christine added. "And doing so unknowingly with interference from supernatural agents embedded in city and state government. We have a chance to have a city relatively free of that, for once." She shook her head, "We're not going to let that go just because you disapprove. It would be useful to have access to IWC resources... but we'll do without if needed."

"You... " Pemberton glanced at Giles for support, only to catch him in the process of swallowing a rather Ripperish smile. "You seem to be enjoying watching Miss LeHane and her compatriots triple team me here, Rupert," he said accusingly.

"Why yes, I suppose I rather am," Giles admitted. He exchanged looks with Vi sitting next to him, then met Pemberton's outraged gaze evenly. "I spent most of my adult life watching the old Council dictate terms to the Slayer and use its influence to attempt to dictate terms to the rest of the world in order to safeguard its prerogatives. It is rather enjoyable to finally watch slayers turn that status quo upon its ear - even if I do seem to find myself on the receiving end of this by association."

"I might note that you're destroying any possibility of presenting a united front in setting the tone of policy discussions here," Pemberton stated. Giles sighed.

"Oh, do belt up, Reginald." Giles gave him a deceptively mild look. "I rather don't wish to remind you that you're here in a support capacity, nor that it is mine and Ms. Sorenson's jobs to negotiate Council policy in dealing with both unaffiliated slayers and with the general public. You'll have ample opportunity to have your input on those policies when they're placed before the Council for discussion, rather than in the field." The look that he sent Faith had _'please don't throw gasoline on the fire'_ stamped on it as clearly as if he'd sent a telegram.

Carefully strangling her inner smartass, Faith nodded carefully and gave Giles a bland look. Giles turned his attention to Faith's companion after a brief skeptical glance.

"We'll attempt to hammer out something we can all live with, Ms. Meadows, in the full discussions with all concerned parties present. I'm certain you'll discover that I value results over formalities," Giles said, getting a nod from the detective. "However," he turned his gaze towards Faith, "While the results are of interest to me, we do find some concern over your methods in this."

"Concerns? And methods?" Faith raised an eyebrow.

"I believe that what Giles is referring to are the high numbers of human casualties involved in your private war against Philadelphia's vampire infestation, Faith." Vi gave her an even look. Faith registered Kori and the four Wild Bunch members shifting positions subtly without bothering to look.

"Ah." Faith gave Christine an amused glance. "Too bad I lost Cordelia as a fashion advisor. I dressed for business when I should have been dressing for a trial."

"Not exactly a trial, Faith," Vi stated. "Merely questions."

"Heh. You had two slayers on the door with orders to disarm us before we came in, until I suggested that might get abrupt. And two others closing off the escalator, just in case." Faith sent an bemused glance across the room. "Four more inside, plus magical assist if needed." Faith locked eyes with Vi, "Not what you need just for friendly _questions_."

Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them, the familiar habit drawing Faith's gaze from Vi. "You must admit, Faith, that the casualties of the last several days do raise some concerns."

"Can't say that I must, Giles," Faith shook her head slowly.

He looked at her from under his eyebrows, carefully. "I have to say: all things considered, that's not a response I had really anticipated from you."

Faith nodded carefully, "Two main points here. One, with the exception of people killed by vampires or their minions, no actual humans were involved. I got nothing I care to admit to."

"Oh? And the other point?"

"Multipart, Giles," Faith said, regarding him evenly. She ticked off on her fingers, "One) I've done nothing I'm going to answer for. Two) You have no authority, legitimate or otherwise, to call me to account. Three) You have no _ability_ to call me to account."

"No ability?" Korinne 'Kori' Ishikawa broke into the discussion for the first time, stepping up to the table behind Vi. "You've always been good, Faith. But you're not that good."

"Good. Bad. We're the girls with the guns," Abby responded, deadpan. She gave the Japanese-American girl a level stare. Kori narrowed her eyes, looking across at her.

"Army of Darkness marathon?" Faith shot Abby an amused look.

"What can I say? It was on cable the other night," Abby grinned, not taking her eyes off of the oriental slayer.

"ahem Let's table the bicep flexing in favor of the business at hand," Vi didn't raise her voice but the command tone in it caused Kori to - reluctantly it seemed - relax slightly and step back with a slight nod. Faith gave Vi an impressed look. "Let's clear away some of the more confrontational aspects of this. I don't believe we'll be needing all of us in here: Kori should be a sufficient presence and the rest of you can take up stations outside the conference." Vi won the brief eye contest with Kori after a moment and the other slayer motioned for the other four to leave the room and wait outside.

After they'd left, closing the door behind them, Vi raised her eyebrows at Faith, "You say you've done nothing to answer for?"

"Not exactly, but close enough." Faith slid the open briefcase around and took out a folder with a sheaf of papers and photographs. She slid the folder across to Vi, saying, "Might want to go through that. Exception of bystanders killed by vamps, everyone taken down has been Familiars or ghouls - vampire servants involved in enabling or helping to cover for the type of atrocities in those photos." She gave Vi and Giles a hard look. "You might want to claim them as 'human'. Be my guest." She saw Vi pale looking at the set of photos from the first blood factory.

"Regardless of their affiliations, slayers don't kill human beings, Miss LeHane." Pemberton stated, flatly. "It is an inexcuseable breach of the codes that slayers operate under, as you should well know."

"Where do you get that from?" Christine asked, not in challenge precisely, but in a curious tone.

"Combination of several thousand years of Old Council policy combined with pop-philosophy ala Buffy Summers and encoded into Watcher Mythology," Faith remarked. Her flat stare made Pemberton hunch uneasily. "Don't bother looking for evidence of deep thought in it."

Pemberton flushed and Giles gave Faith a reproving glare. "That was uncalled for, Faith. And you of all people are aware that there is basis for the admonitions against slayers taking any except non-human life, regardless of the rationale."

"Huh." Faith regarded him expressionlessly for a moment. Then her left hand flickered and suddenly the big Jackal pattern knife stood quivering out of the surface of the table between them. Both of them ignored Pemberton's gasp and sudden recoil backwards. Faith met Kori's eyes across the room, holding herself perfectly still so as to not give further provocation. "How does it feel to have just been demoted to 'non-human' by policy, Kori? You're a legitimate target for any slayer."

"Hardly a reasoned rebuttal. And not a counter to the established principle," Giles responded. She had to give him credit for sparing _that_ knife only the barest of glances before locking eyes with her across the table.

"That says different, Giles." Faith met his gaze without flinching - something she might not have been able to do several years or even several months ago. "Dramatic? Yeah. But that's the counterpoint that you can't ignore or wish away no matter how much you'd like to. Unless you can honestly say to me that Summers went through a breakdown directly from sticking that blade in me with lethal intent, or that the Watcher's Council sent a hit team out to drag her back for trial for that action... then your _'Principle'_ is merely a guideline." Her voice dropped to just above a whisper and the Boston drawl got slightly thicker, "And I'm the one person you can't bullshit with your answer."

"Do the actions of several years ago serve as a justification for actions and principles for today, Faith?" Giles asked mildly.

"That's called an evasion, Giles," Faith replied, just as mildly. "Example, not justification. Until recently, we have a limited pool of life examples for slayers taking human life. Me, and Buffy. There bein' history between us don't invalidate the example." She held his gaze dispassionately, "I'm waiting."

Giles sighed, but didn't break gazes with her. "No. I cannot honestly tell you that. Are you happy, now?" He seemed to suddenly grow older, and wearier, before her eyes.

"No. And I didn't do it for happies." Faith shook her head, her eyes dark. "Dredging up that crap doesn't make me feel good, and hurting you with it don't make me happy. But I ain't gonna let you feed me or them a line of principled bullshit when that sits between us making it a lie." She dropped her eyes to the knife, "That makes it a guideline, not a rule - and a pretty fucking flexible one at that."

"Perhaps it is less of a 'guideline' than you care to believe?" Giles gave her a steady regard, his face expressionless.

"Accidentally killing Alan Finch pushed me over an edge I'd been heading for for a long time. If it hadn't been that, then something else would have shoved me across it - if not then, then later. Killing deliberately after that didn't help, but it didn't cause it: I was already broken long before that." Faith gave Giles a bleak look, "Coming after me with intent evidently didn't push Buffy across that same edge, and she didn't do it for any more noble reasons than me doing that professor. Something we both know. Neither of us were on the side o' the angels in that fight on that roof." Neither Faith nor Giles felt inclined to smile at the inadvertent pun. And they both might as well have been alone in the room for the moment.

Rupert Giles gave an abrupt nod. "Quite."

"Yeah." Faith sighed, and drew the blade easily out of the table top and sheathed it under her jacket. "So maybe it's not as black and white as 'slayers don't kill humans!' bounce bounce perky smile and all that crap. Not unless you're prepared to look Kori, or Vi, or Abby dead in the eye and tell them 'Sorry. Slayers aren't human for our purposes'." She gave him a bleak look, "Bit more complicated than that, huh? Kinda like real life."

"Or as real as this life ever gets?" Giles gave her a ghost of a smile, somewhat ruefully.

"I can tell you: when you're looking over a blade watching the lights go out of someone's eyes, it gets pretty damned real. Don't matter if it's human or demon." Faith snorted, softly. "Suspect you know that from experience."

Giles winced slightly as an image of the life going out in Ben's eyes under his hand, from that night beneath Glory's tower, flashed unbidden across his mind's eye. "Quite."

"Probably a bit late here to point out that Faith was unconscious from injuries following Elora's death until mid-yesterday," Abby remarked. "Any Familiars and ghouls taken out, she had nothing to do with." Abby left it unsaid whether or not she and Christine had any of those deaths to their credit.

Giles and Vi gave her a sharp look, then one to Faith.

Faith shrugged, "Said I had nothin' to answer for here. Several times. I ain't much in the alibi business." She inclined her head in the direction of the opened folder in before Vi. "'Specially not when I would have cheerfully gutted anyone responsible for enabling those three blood factories, so-called-human or not."

"I'm not certain that I can say I'd blame you," Vi admitted.

"Probably past time that you guys re-examined that 'principle' and took a hard look at it," Abby interjected. "Hundreds, or thousands of new slayers. Some of them are going to be active cops like Christine, who've killed on the job." She gave the blonde woman a nod, "Or soldiers. Mercenaries. Or regular people with - or without - concealed carry permits who've had to kill in self-defense. Or otherwise. Hunters like me who've had to kill Familiars. Time to maybe toss out the bubblegum philosophy and take a hard look at it before it bites you in the ass?"

Giles winced again, "I am going to maintain that I truly detest yours and Faith's categorization of this as 'bubblegum philosophy', Ms. Whistler."

"Pity, that. Suffer." Faith grinned at him. "Whatever is come up with is gonna have to take into account human evils that are mixed in with what you deal with."

"ahem" Pemberton's throat clearing drew several pairs of eyes to him. "While I agree that this is something that needs to be addressed, there is a larger point that Miss LeHane brought up." He gave Faith an even look. "Specifically: your assertion that the Watcher's Council has no legitimate authority to hold you accountable."

Faith gave him a flat stare. "You don't. Deal with it."

"I'm afraid that I quite disagree." Pemberton matched her flat look with one of his own.

"Wah."

"Faith?" Giles softer interjection drew her attention. "Perhaps if you were to elaborate on your reasoning somewhat beyond 'wah'?"

"Be a bad moment for me to give you a blank look and ask you to translate that into English?" Faith raised an eyebrow. "Sorry. Reggie there raises my hackles without trying. And 'wah' is all the 'elaboration' he rates from me."

"Be that as it may," Giles shook his head slightly, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pemberton isn't the one asking for an elaboration. I am."

"So you are," Faith paused, considering. "Do you mind if we take it as given that the old Watcher's Council gave up _any_ legit right to hold _anyone_ else accountable for anything? On _any_ grounds: legal, moral, or ethical?"

"Hrmm." Giles considered that briefly, then nodded. "Stipulated." Everyone ignored Pemberton's almost reflexive glare.

"Good. Saves a lot of rehash." Faith took a deep breath. This would be the first time she'd attempted to vocalize things that she'd spent months thinking through since the final days in Sunnydale and the initial arguments over rebuilding and reshaping the Council. "Much as I hate to admit it, we're on even shakier ground there than the Old Council. Me included. For you, or I, or anyone who was involved in this thing to claim that right is more than a bit criminal. For you or I to claim a right to pass judgment on say, Abby or Kori there is like a rapist calling his victim to account." And didn't that just draw a number of shocked expressions? Giles and Vi were the only ones out of the IWC group to consider carefully and then give equally reluctant nods.

Pemberton gave her a slightly boggled look. Giles cut across whatever he might have been tempted to say smoothly, drawing himself a grateful look from Faith. "Do go on."

Nod. "We conspired to commit spiritual rape on hundreds or thousands of women and girls. The old Shadowmen only did one at a time - they were pikers in comparison," the corner of Faith's mouth curled up in a sour half grin. "Not us, boy. We did it _big_. Rationalize it every way we want, we gave up any claim to higher moral or ethical ground with that. We can't even _see_ high ground from where we went." Faith's grin went all the way across, but stayed sour. "Kinda makes a mock of my redemption trail, hey? They don't build an amends big enough for that one."

Giles gave her a careful look. "I shan't bother with the defenses that you've already considered and no doubt discarded." Faith gave him a sharp nod. "I'll merely point out the very small mitigating factor of building a choice into this Calling."

Faith snorted and gave him a look. "Did we? Even if the Called get the full choices speech in their heads, rather than the short version of _'Are you ready to be strong?'_, how many of 'em are going to have _context_ to understand the choice bein' offered?" She shook her head, "Naw. It don't work."

Giles took off his glasses and merely stared at them in lieu of polishing for a long moment. "I gather that this reservation is something you've been wrestling with for quite some time?"

"Oh yeah." Faith's eyes went distant for a moment. "Ever since it was first brought up," she admitted.

"You didn't voice those reservations at the time it was proposed, however."

"_Who_ didn't?" Faith raised an eyebrow. "_Both_ Xander and I did. We just didn't do it in open house like the Rebellion, with allo' you as an audience." Giles winced slightly, as did Vi. "Praise in public, condemn in private an' all."

"Quite," Giles nodded, sighing. "If I may ask, what response did you receive?" Faith just _looked_ at him in reply. "Ah. I see."

"All fairness, I didn't exactly have an alternative idea." Faith sat abruptly, straddling her chair.

"You had a difficult choice to make with very few options, against an adversary of almost unimaginable power," Pemberton stated with a gentleness that drew a startled look from Faith. He raised an eyebrow back at her with a sardonic air. "Yes, I am quite aware that you consider me to be an insufferable prick who is firmly mired in many of the sins that made the Old Watcher's Council the dangerous relic it was, Faith. I would, however, like to hope that I am not a complete and utter prat."

"No matter how vain a hope?" That drew a short laugh, and she gave him a nod. "You couldn't be, else Giles wouldn't have offered you the position."

"Thank you for that. I am certain I'll continue to prove to be an insufferable prick - it is a part of my job description." She gave him the short laugh back, nodding. "This doesn't completely answer my initial question and qualms. If the Watcher's Council has no legitimate authority to hold you - or any other slayer - accountable... then who does?"

"Hard question, ain't it?" Faith gave him a considering look, and then turned a thoughtful one on Giles. She poured herself a cup of coffee from one of the carafes on the conference table and took a long sip while thinking it through. "IWC is disqualified for lack of a moral standing. No rights, only responsibilities there. Normal law _can't_ do it except at the very extremes: I was in prison for two years because I wanted to stay, not because they could hold me. And what passes for Rule of Law as far as I can tell is on grounds as questionable as we are, even for dealing with regular people." She gave Pemberton a measuring look, "Don't get me started on Higher Authorities. I don't see any evidence that God or Gods are interested, and I wouldn't trust the Powers That Be to smack a puppy on the nose with a rolled up newspaper."

Giles snorted, "Given what little I am aware of of their track record, I am forced to agree."

Faith paused, considering... "Lack of ability applies to the IWC as it stands also. Even considering that I don't think you were completely serious, Vi... if you had had real reason to call me on the carpet here and I didn't care for it, the three of us would have cleared this room like wolves going through a sheep paddock. No offense, Kori."

"None taken." The oriental girl cocked her head with a slight smile. "I question your certainty of that, however."

Faith raised an eyebrow, seeing herself in her mind's eye as she could deal with that, if she wanted to...

_Her hand blurred to invisibility and Kori found herself looking down the muzzle of a 10mm Kimber before she could react beyond blinking. The Japanese girl paled, frozen._

_"Suggest you don't." Faith shook her head slightly and put the auto back into the small of her back __holster. "Six of you, counting you and Vi? Second and a half after my hand moved there'd have been three, and a second later there'd have been only me, Abby, Chris, and Giles." She met Giles and Vi's eyes in turn. "Apologies. But I hope that made my point... ?"_

_"Ahem. Quite." Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do please find a different way of making it next time, however. I would like to make it to the end of the week without a coronary."_

_"Sorry." Faith looked chagrined. "Don't coronary on us G. We'd miss you... "_

Faith blinked and forced the impulse down and away, hearing Elora's laughter in the back of her mind. Definitely going to have to take time out to sort out her new dark sister. She smiled inwardly and bit down on a skewed impulse to ask _'I'm sorry - are the voices in my head bothering you, lady?'_ Instead she gave Kori a lopsided smile and said, "Question away, Kori. I ain't in the proving business - not to you, not to anyone." She grinned, "Not unless you want to kick this all sideways yourself... ?"

Kori almost took an involuntary step back from the ferocity in that grin, then caught herself and stopped. "Might don't make make rights," Faith said. "Don't be confusin' ability to kill with right to make someone submit to your authority. They ain't the same."

"Down kids. Don't make _me_ break out the rolled up newspaper," Vi shook her head, not bothering to hide a glare at the both of them. "Ok. It is a hard question. So... where does it leave us?" Vi asked.

"I'm accountable to myself," Faith said, carefully. "As fucked up as they may be, my ethics are the only ones I can trust." She paused... "Doesn't mean I'm real comfortable with that realization."

"To borrow an idiom, at the risk of 'kicking this sideways' myself," Pemberton broke in, "I should point out that you yourself aren't one of the Potentials... wronged in the mass Calling. You were called in the traditional fashion via Kendra's death at Drusilla's hand."

"So I'm subject to the self-assumed authority of the Old Watcher's Council? The one that was wiped out by the First?" Faith raised an eyebrow. "Guess again. Makes me an' B descendants of the original girl you guys raped with a Primal Essence. Makes you an' Giles descendants of the original Shadowmen and heirs to their act, if you want to carry that through. We can multiply that debt through infinity until we come to the sum total of fuck all, and it _still_ won't give you any authority in my eyes." She gave Pemberton a hard look, "You had _none_ the first time when you guys tried to haul me off in chains for Finch's death. I'd of been within self-defense to have killed that team. You had barely any the second time in LA when you came after me with guns: me goin' rogue gave you just _barely_ a pretext at self-defense." Faith grinned at him, "Preemptive self-D. Think if'n you ask Chris, the law calls that assassination. Old Watcher's Council was no better than I was when I worked for Wilkins."

"We're going in circles here and accomplishing nothing," Giles put in. "Faith is correct, as much as it surprises me to admit it," he said dryly. Faith flashed him a grin. "Rehashing the history of the previous Council/Slayer relationship leaves us with very little ground to stand on."

Permberton acknowledged that with a slight nod, surprising Faith again. "I'm forced to echo Ms. Sorenson's query: where does that leave us?"

"It leaves us in free fall," Christine suggested. "Moral, legal, and ethical free fall. That's where vigilantes always end up: when civil authority is corrupt or inadequate and there's only your own codes and ethics to rely on. Like it or not, as it stands, what we're dealing with is a vigilante situation."

"You have to be able to count on vigilantes to be responsible for themselves," Abby stated. "And everyone's done a pretty good job of eradicating anything resembling a sense of personal responsibility in most people over the last century or so." She gave Giles and Pemberton a merciless look. "Guess that means it sucks to be you. You have to count on people like me and Blade to rein ourselves in."

"Lemme tell ya: that free fall is a very scary place to be," Faith nodded. "No limits except what you place on yourself. I have... some experience at it." She exchanged a small, tight smile with Giles, who nodded back.

"Ok. The one thing that we can agree on is that we're going nowhere fast," Vi stated. "I'm going to suggest that we table deciding the question of 'legitimate authority and responsibility' for now - people have been arguing about that since Locke and before and still haven't settled it." There were nods around the room. "If this checks out," she passed her hand over the sheaf of papers and photos, "Then in my view, there haven't been any 'crimes' committed to be settled, regardless of whether or not the IWC has authority to adjudicate them. What we need to determine is what happens next."

There were reluctant nods from around the room, including one from Pemberton. "Works," Faith said, "for now."

"I believe that you had a proposal that was mentioned?" Giles looked across the table at her.

"Yeah... more a rough idea than an actual Plan," Faith nodded. "I was working harder on stayin' alive and figurin' out how to deal with Elora there for awhile than I was on planning the aftermath. But... " She shrugged.

"Understood." Giles said. "And you did an excellent job of dealing with a dangerous opponent and staying alive while doing so. I can't promise that the IWC will be amenable to your ideas for the aftermath," he gave her a slight nod, "However that certainly buys you a great deal of credibility for having them considered seriously."

"So in English that means I bought myself enough rope to hang with?" She gave him an innocent expression.

"Quite. However - I _was_ speaking English."

"I can fill in the 'you bloody prat' on my own, thanks," Faith snickered at Giles' expression. "Works. Ok... " She paused to gather her thoughts. "Ok. I've put this out as a rough idea with everyone else involved and it seems workable." There were nods from Christine and Abby, and she continued. "Between us, we've pretty well broken up the vampire power base in this city: both the Vampire Nation's and the Kindrel Courts, as well as their political support. I understand that Prince Santos took my advice to get out of Dodge completely. You guys since you've been here have been mopping up the street Kindrel and Draaken and normal vamps, I take it?"

Vi and Kori nodded. "Surprisingly slim pickings, all things considered."

"Amazing how fast licks vaporize when a Senior Slayer gives the other demon populations an unlimited hunting lisence on them, no questions asked," Abby said in a mock dry tone. "Might want to keep that in mind for future tactics."

"There's going to be a lot of the smarter licks of all breeds migrating to other cities. Surviving ones, anyway," Faith said. "Going to have to pass the word for everyone to stay on their toes and deal with the influx."

"So we've noticed," Vi said. She grinned abruptly, "Whatever went on here that first night, you guys _did_ manage to terrify a lot of vamps."

Faith nodded, flashing her a quick answering grin and went on, "Blade's people are going to be setting up a Nightstalker's group here as a part of their rebuilding. Vince is taking over... some vacancies that have popped up in the local demon underworld. He can keep the demonic activity in check once he gets things established. And as long as they manage to keep their jobs, O'Brien and Chris' people can handle the... semi 'Official' end of things." She paused, "What I'd like to see is for the IWC to act as support on both the research, resources and combat fronts: set up a slayer and Watcher presence here to work with the other groups. Possibly the full Wild Bunch along with a mage and a couple of Watchers... " Faith gave Vi a considering look, "You guys are getting stretched too much to open another school or HQ, but a squad of slayers could help keep a lid on things. I like the idea of a vamp free city and we have a real good start at creatin' one."

"Who would be in overall charge of this association?" Giles asked.

"Does it matter?" Faith lifted an eyebrow. "Work it out between you guys over the course of future meetings. It'll probably take a number of 'em just to get the basics hammered out." She shrugged, "Hell: stay indy and just coordinate when you need to work together. O'Brien and Hogan are going to stay in charge of the police end, anyway. Blade, King, and Abby aren't going to let anyone take over the Nightstalkers. Doubt Vince'll share charge of his people and activities. Work it out." Faith grinned, "Or screw it all off on pissing contests. Up to you."

"We'll try to avoid the pissing contests, if we can,' Vi said. Faith nodded.

"Ok... I know that you don't care for Angel's people right now, but you should know: Gunn and I are working to set up legal assistance for O'Brien's people if they need it." Faith threw that part out, flat, and let it lay there. "You don't have to work with that if you don't care to."

Giles looked somewhat as if he'd bitten into something sour, but he nodded. "We'll deal with that issue if or when it arises." Faith figured it was as good as she was going to get and nodded again, not pushing it.

"What role do you plan on taking in this?" Pemberton asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Absent," Faith matched the lifted eyebrow. "I have personal business elsewhere."

"You're planning to set all of this in motion and then move on, leaving others to finish?" He gave her an odd look.

"Gee, it sounds so _bad_ when you say it that way," Faith grinned. "I fell into this on the basis of a one night stand and then a contract with Giles. Now that those are taken care of... I'm going to fall out of it and move on. Not without making every effort to set things up so my friends aren't left alone holding the bag," she inclined her head to Christine, "but I didn't sign on to be Philly's resident slayer. Elora hadn't targeted me, I'd of moved on without ever getting involved." Faith met Pemberton's gaze evenly, "You gotta problem with that, Reggie, I suggest you deal with it. Or don't."

Permberton flushed slightly, "That would seem to be at odds with your professed codes of personal responsibility."

"Bite me," Faith said sweetly.

"ahem" Giles cleared his throat, taking off his glasses to polish them once again. "Let us also table the juvenile arguments and concentrate on how this can best be worked out, shall we?" His glare was met with reluctant nods from both participants. "I believe that Vi and your compatriots can handle discussions over the details for now, Faith. I would like to speak to you privately for a bit, if we may?"

"Sure thing." Faith stood easily. "Take a walk with me?"

**...**

"What's on your mind, Giles?" Faith glanced sideways and up at the angular figure strolling beside her down the Marriott corridors. She paid no attention whatsoever to the two mini-slayers trailing along behind them like shadows.

Giles didn't answer immediately, instead continuing to stroll with hands in pockets, looking down at the corridor flooring. "You've grown quite a bit, it seems. I find myself rather ashamed to admit that I hadn't noticed this before."

"All of twenty now. All growed up and everything, yup."

He glanced sideways sharply at her, "I hadn't meant merely physical age, Faith."

"I know," she grinned back, then sobered. "What do you want me to say? Yeah: I'm not the same fucked up little girl I was in '98. I'm a somewhat differently fucked up older girl now."

"That's.. not quite the description I would have applied," he gave her a quizzical glance.

"No. Nice of you to say, but... no." Faith gave him a direct look, then turned her eyes back up along the hallway. "That freefall thing? I'm starting to realize just how screwed up I really am. And that I'm the only one who can take responsibility for me becoming something else."

"That's a rather frightening awareness to come to, isn't it?" Giles remarked.

"Sounds like you've been there," Faith chuckled softly.

"Quite." The older man sighed heavily. "I would that I could say I've mastered the process, however I am afraid that my actions over the last few years in Sunnydale give lie to that fantasy."

Faith nodded silently.

"You didn't have to agree quite so quickly, you know." Giles remarked with a ghost of his old, dry humour.

"Sorry. Part of the redemption thing." Faith gave him a ghost of her familiar half grin. "I'm making an effort to not lie to myself these days. Not padding someone else's corners kinda goes along with." She gave him a more serious glance, "We both made major fuckups along the way. I don't see any point in beating that horse to death. Just... learn from it and move on."

"Yes, quite. Easier said than done, I'm afraid."

"Someone once told me that 'easy' and 'simple' aren't the same things," Faith said. "This were easy, it wouldn't be a problem."

"Yes. They are completely different things." They walked for a short time in silence, and when it was broken again, Giles had moved to a different subject, "You were unconcious for over two days, Ms. Whistler said?"

"Coma girl, that's me." Faith nodded and gave him a wry look. "Starting to wonder if it's getting to be a habit... I went down hard for three days after the Pit, two days here plus the time I was out after Elora threw me into a lamppost."

"Were you injured this last time?" His glance was concerned.

"Not exactly... " Faith couldn't help the sardonic twist to her smile nor the amusement to her voice, "All in my head, more like. Just... " she shrugged. "It wasn't just a physical fight, and it took a lot out of me." There was a finality to her tone that suggested that was all she was going to volunteer.

Giles nodded, then after a short time said, "I would like once again to ask you to come back to the Council." He glanced at her as they walked, "Your... rather hard won maturity gives you rather surprising insights that would be invaluable to us."

"Counterpoint to the Pembertons and Buffyisms?" Faith sent him an amused look, "No."

"I am prepared to both argue the point and to offer incentives for you to consider," Giles said, gently.

"And at the end of all the arguing and incentives... answer's still 'No'." Faith stopped and turned to face him. "Might be invaluable to you... but it'd be the death of me inside. No. I don't have a place there any more." She added softly, "Don't think I ever did."

"I see... " Giles shook his head. "Or rather, I don't. You could make a place for yourself, if you wished to."

"Yeah, well... that's the thing. I don't wish." She shook her head, "If you want to remake that thing, you're going to have to fight that one on your own. My 'insights' aren't unique. I still have a limited shelf life, and I don't want to spend it beating my head against walls when there's valuable things I could be doing... " she gestured to the row of windows they'd paused before, "out there."

"More valuable than attempting to build something that might make amends to large numbers of young women for what you consider an act of wrong?" Giles gave her a quizzical look.

Faith was surprised to not feel a flash of anger at that. She gave a soft laugh, instead. "An act I argued against. Not going to have it put off on me alone." She gave him an amused look, "That's a conversation you need to have with Red and General B."

Giles winced slightly. "Belatedly?"

"I wasn't going to say," Faith stated. "I'll make my amends for that thing as I come across opportunities. Not gonna do it as part of the Watcher's Council."

Giles opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it and nodded abruptly. "Very well." He gave her a careful look, "I would ask that you don't work against us."

"Not planning to." Faith shrugged and turned to continue their walk, "If the IWC comes in conflict with me, it'll be because you took actions that caused it. Not because I went to war with you."

"That's not _quite_ what I had in mind," Giles said dryly. "I had rather more in mind that you don't prejudice newly Awakeneds against us when you run across them."

"Hrrm. Tall order." Faith snorted softly. "Not planning to. Am going to lay things out for them as I see it, the whole history an' all, including spelling out that whether they want to associate with you is their choice, along with any alternatives I can think of. We owe them that choice."

"We are giving them a choice. That, I believe, has been the entire thrust behind our redesign." Giles stated in a mild voice.

"Hobson's." Faith remarked in an equally mild voice.

"Beg pardon?" Giles blinked at her.

"Hobson's Choice." Faith said, glancing sidelong at him. "In the sense of: a choice in which both options are undesirable rather than a choice with only one option." She shook her head, "New slayers have a choice: join the IWC and become active slayers with all that comes with, or don't, and be a demon target along with their friends and families, unsupported. Which is what it boils down to."

"T... th.. that's not quite... " Giles sputtered. he trailed off with an affronted look when Faith continued to regard him with a bemused and patient expression. "Is that really how you see what we're doing?"

Faith nodded. "Don't forget: while I was with you guys, that was my main job - running acrost country giving the pitch to new slayers we discovered before something nasty ate them and their families. And that's exactly what a newbie slayer with no support system is: a demon magnet. Happy meal with legs, as Spike would say. Err... would have said." Damn - she'd almost forgotten that _'Spike is back'_ was a topic that's off the conversation list. Doubtful that Giles would make a leap from her slip of phrasing, but still... "S'a choice that ain't a choice, G. Join up and get a short and violent life fighting evil, or don't and try to not get et. Best o' luck an' all."

"Hrrrm." This time it was Giles that paused and turned to give her a long regard. He couldn't help but reflect that the Faith he'd first gotten to know would have been jittering and pacing and doing her best to distract or avoid a conversation like this one. Not merely giving him a grave and rather unsettling regard while waiting to see what he would respond with. _'When did she manage to become so disconcertingly centered? And why did I not take the time to notice after she came back... ?'_ After a time, Giles sighed again and said, "I do see your point, Faith. And yet I find myself unable to see an alternative. We have had our hands full with merely attempting to locate newer slayers and rebuild."

"Yup." Faith nodded. "And not enough hands to do it with." She smiled slightly, "Ain't accusing you, Giles. Am just pointing out things to consider if you guys are serious about wanting to do this different and right."

"I see," Giles nodded. "You have given this some deal of thought, it seems. These are not just off the top of your head observations."

Faith looked away, then back. "You get a lot of time to think, out on the road. Get tired of considering my screwups all the time," she flashed that cocked grin at him. "Entertains me to consider other people's screwups on occasion."

"Ha. Quite." Giles nodded. "Would it be out of line to ask if you have considered any alternatives?'

"Out of line? Why?" She gave him a surprised look. She shrugged, "You might not like my ideas."

"I'll take that risk."

"Some," She nodded. "Ever think about getting Red - or some of the other mages - to design something to mask the slayer essence for girls who don't want to join up? Give 'em a reasonable option?" Faith quirked an eyebrow, "It's also occurred to me that Robin might not have been completely off base with his 'alternative council' he was secretly politicking on." At Giles dark look she held up a hand, palm out, "Not his execution or attempts, just the concept. Seems like not having any competitors is likely to lead you to the same road the Old Council was on: thinking you have exclusive rights over slayers. Especially when you have Pembertons around who still think that's a perfectly natural state for things."

"The first is something to consider," Giles said finally. "The latter... if we are stretched in attempting to set up one redesigned Watcher's Council, we can hardly spare the resources to set up... franchises."

"Didn't say it was doable," Faith nodded. "Just that it was an idea." She shook her head, "Not something I'm interested in either."

"Does that mean that I shan't be seeing a rival Faith's Watcher's Council on our horizons?" Giles asked with a slight smile.

"Ha! Not likely. Gonna do my best to forget you said that so's you don't jinx me with it," Faith laughed. Her eyes narrowed after a moment, "Doesn't mean the thought won't occur to someone else. There's a lot of demons who know what Slayers are, and a lot of mystically attuned people as well. Vacuums attract filler."

"So it seems," Giles nodded, frowning. "Shall I trust that if you encounter any such efforts, you'll inform us of them?"

Faith considered the question, then shrugged, "You can trust that I'll check it out thoroughly and make up my own mind about them. Best I'll commit to."

"That... " Giles paused for a long moment, thinking. "That is sufficient for me," he nodded. "It may not be sufficient for other members of the Council."

The corner of Faith's mouth curled up into a half grin, "Wah. Don't give a rats." After a moment, Giles gave a sharp bark of startled laughter that soon had both of them snickering.

"Oh good," Giles managed after a few moments. "For a time there you had me somewhat concerned that you'd been replaced by an Alternate Universe Faith. I'm glad to see that not all of your basic attitudes have changed."

"Nope, still me." Faith snickered, "And if it had, would I be the Evil Twin or the Good Twin?"

"Hrrmm. As I recall," Giles took on a bemused expression, "When that Wish caused an alternate universe to leak over, Willow's doppelganger had a propensity for leather, studs, and vampirism." Faith nodded, remembering what she'd heard about that incident afterwards... "So by that logic, your Evil Twin would no doubt have tendencies to pink and fuzzy rather than leather and sex appeal." He peered down at her over the top of his glasses, "Safe to say that you must be the Good Twin."

"Oh, that's just evil, Giles." Faith laughed, "Now I'm going to have to scrub my brain to get rid of images of myself in Hello Kitty Wear."

"Yes, well. I'm happy to do my part for the cause," he replied.

"Giles?" Faith's voice and expression went suddenly diffident and she glanced away. "Know I said there wasn't a point in beating that horse, but there's a question I have to ask you."

He gave her a considering look. "Yes?"

"Why?" Faith straightened her shoulders and met his eyes directly.

Giles blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why?" She made an impatient gesture, sharp and almost harsh. "Not making any sense, I know. This is... harder than I thought it'd be." She stuck her hands in her back pockets, and looked away. "Had a lot of time to think in prison, and after. Too much, maybe. I kept coming back over and over to something, though, and it kept not making sense." Her voice was quiet enough that he had to almost strain to hear the next part. "I wrote you from prison while I was in Stockton."

"Oh." The sentence was like a punch in the stomach, sharp and startling. "I'm sorry. I never recieved a single letter."

"I know." She flashed him a quick grin and a sidelong glance. "Never mailed you one. Xander... " She shook her head: she wasn't going to delve off into her and Xan's letter exchanges and visits while she was in.

"Ah." he gave her a quizzical look, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"My line, G." She turned to face him again, looking up. "I don't _understand_. I don't understand why you shut me out shortly after I ran to you guys from Kakistos after Diana was murdered. Don't understand why the Watcher's Council could send assassins after me when I fucked up - but they couldn't send me a Watcher before that. Don't understand why evil Wilkins was the _only_ one who gave a shit that a 16 year old didn't have a decent place to stay outside of the Quick-Stop In-and-Out and regular meals - but the so-called adult _Watcher_ who was supposed to take care of slayers couldn't. Don't understand why I was left to fall out the cracks until there wasn't anywhere left to go except for evil-fucking-_Post_ who just wanted to use me to get to a magical glove. Or why a fucking _vampire_ was the only one who didn't give up when it all went sideways." She jerked her chin upwards slightly, eyes boring into his. "I mean... I can understand B, and the rest. We were fucking teenagers - we're _supposed_ to have our heads up our asses. It's in the job description. Joyce? She had a daughter of her own to take care of. She tried, though... But why you?" Giles noticed she was blinking rapidly, despite the even, soft tone of her voice. "Kept wondering if it was me. Was I that bad a slayer? That obvious I was already fucked up beyond salvage? Keeps coming back to thinking it was _something_ with me, because you shoved me out to arms length and never looked back. I mean... I _know_ I fucked up - don't need anyone to tell me that... but you turned away long before all that. Tossed me off to fucking _Wesley_, who any moron could see wasn't ready to handle a puppy, much less a slayer. Why?"

Giles shook his head silently, and looked away for a long moment. He was aware of the dark eyes still resting on him, waiting and relentless. "This is going to sound trite and inadequate, but it wasn't you. It was what you reminded me of." He turned back in time to see her hunch slightly as if struck.

"Yeah. Makes sense," Faith nodded, slowly. "Ripper and your dark youth. You couldn't stand being reminded of yourself."

"I... " Giles shook his head and looked away again. "Yes. There is absolutely nothing that I can say to you to make up for that. Nothing that I can _do_ to make that right. I looked at you and saw someone as dark and as wild as I was, and heading down the same path. And I couldn't make myself deal with it. It reminded me of the drunken, brawling, womanizing _killer_ that I was and almost didn't pull myself away from being - and I couldn't look past recoiling from that long enough to even make the attempt." Spoken aloud, those reasons sounded even more woefully inane and petty than they had when he'd battered himself with them in his head over the years.

"Yah. I get it." Faith's mouth twisted in something that might have been a smile. "Easier to throw the wildchild away than to risk looking in the rearview mirror. Objects may be closer than you care for." It was Giles' turn to hunch as if from a blow. "No big. I figured out a long time ago that grownups are just as fucked up as everyone else. I just wanted to know why." She nodded.

"I am so terribly sorry, and that is such a soddingly inadequate thing to say, Faith." Giles looked at her miserably. "There were a number of times on the Hellmouth I felt I was teetering on that same knife's edge back to there - and in trying to balance I failed you in helping to find your own." He paused, "But _you_ were not irredeemably broken or beyond salvage. It wasn't you."

It had been what she'd guessed at during those long hours spent puzzling at it in her cell, what she'd wanted confirmed - and it felt like ashes to her, hearing it. Faith shook her head, numb inside.

"Yeah. 'Sorry' doesn't really do it on the big things, does it?" Faith nodded. "Do it this way: save the 'sorry' and just make sure you build it so that the next me doesn't fall through the cracks. I'll work on makin' sure **I** don't fall through again."

Faith turned on her heel and headed off slowly back in the direction they'd come from, hands still in her pockets. "We outta head back, I guess."

"Very well." After staring through Faith's back for a long moment, Giles moved off after her.

"Oh. G?" Faith paused and turned slightly to look back at him. "It's ok if you guys decide not to work with what we're setting up, k? Just... " She paused. "Don't hurt my friends if you decide against it. No threats, no promises, just - don't do it."

She turned again and continued on back towards the conference room.


	30. Chapter 30: Aftermaths

**Chapter 30: Aftermaths - **_**"Hell is a place with meetings... "**_

(Day 18; _Monday, December 22, 2003_)

Meetings, meetings, meetings. Meetings between the IWC and Blade and his people. Meetings between the IWC and O'Brien and Hogan and their people. Meetings in the evenings with the IWC and Vince and his people. Full group meetings. Now she remembered why she'd once growled "Screw this!", walked out of the New Watcher's HQ in London and onto a plane and the next time she'd stopped muttering imprecations under her breath had been when she'd stalked into Angel's office in LA, thrown back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs...

For a full five minutes until her throat was raw and Angel was shoved back in his chair as far away from her as he could get while looking at her all wide and wild eyed like a deer staring down the maw of a semi.

And the look he'd given her when she'd stopped, cocked her head at him, and calmly said, "Hi! And how're _you_ doin?" had been just fucking priceless. Coulda made one of those credit card commercials out of it. Starring Cordy.

Fucking meetings. She could sympathize with the buzzard on that old t-shirt: the one looking sidelong at his bud on the next branch and going, "Patience my ass... "

_Yup. 'Patience my ass. I wanna kill something,'_ she thought. Instead, she shoved her chair back abruptly, stood up from the table, smiled brightly at everyone and stuck a cigar in the corner of her mouth while grabbing her coat and Aussie hat and told the assembled folks, "_I'm_ gonna go out and have a smoke. Ya'll have fun." She thought Giambione was going to choke from holding in a snicker when she paused to grab a mug of coffee and tossed back over her shoulder on the way out: "Write if you find useful work... "

Fucking meetings. Oh well - at least no one'd killed anyone. Yet. Not even her...

Nights weren't so bad. Short on sleep after a couple of days of meetings (fucking meetings) in the days and prowling at night, but - hey: slayer. When she's in top trim, she can run on two to four hours of sleep a day for weeks. Has done it before. Nights are spent meeting up with Vi, Kori, Giles and the girls around ten-ish and then taking them around and introducing them to the local demon bar scene. Usually with either Blade, Abby, and King; or with Chris, O'Brien and Giambione and their people. Getting them used to the idea of working with each other on a more 'er less civil basis. Demon bar hopping and then street hunting time spent tracking down the increasingly scarce remnants of Philly's vampire populations.

Doesn't take long after something like that run that she and the others had made for the word to get out that Philadelphia was no longer a healthy place for licks. Add the word that a squad of slayers, especially what was still known in demon and vamp circles as 'Faith's Wild Bunch', was in town and on the hunt, and even the most idiot of 'normal' vamps got the message. Time to shag ass or dust. Or ash, or crumble, whatever your breed's specialty is.

There's things out there in the dark that _hunt_. Some of them even have badges and a lisence to ash.

Things were even starting to normalize a bit between her and Kori's people... falling back into the old hunting camaraderie and easy joke-and-slay relationships they'd had before back when _she'd_ been pride leader. Normalize... as long as she was careful to ignore the odd looks that came when no one thought she was watching and the occasional muttering that they forgot to keep below slayer earshot. Or at least she hoped it was 'forgot'. Probably not. Oh well.

Faith. Renegade. It had taken less than a full night's hunting and overhearing the quiet whispers to realize she'd picked up a new nickname to go with the wary looks and the occasional disconcerted murmur over the casual terror that fell over the odd demon bar or Draaken haunt when she walked in with O'Brien's squad and a half dozen slayers at her back.

_Ronin_.

She'd snicker if she wasn't afraid it'd turn to a sour, harsh noise in her throat. _Ronin_. As if she was a master less samurai and the IWC was some feudal lord she'd broken away from... Not fucking hardly.

There were times when she missed Xander's one-eyed eyebrow raise, lopsided and pained grin, and casual _'Saddle up, Clint,'_ at the sight of her lighting up a stogie when they'd go out on the rare solo patrols in Cleveland before it all broke apart and she'd come back to find him gone to Africa and everyone walking light around her and Robin. Missed it with an intensity that shocked her down in the places she tried not to look at too hard... or too often.

'Least the confrontation of the other day hadn't damaged hers and Vi's friendship any. Had taken less than a couple of hours for her and the red head to fall back into the easy familiarity and trust they'd started to build up before. The Texas gal had developed an amazing amount of steel in her since the Sunnydale collapse, but she'd never been much of one for either meaningless pissing contests or for grudge holding. Coolness. They might just pull this thing off because of Vi. Faith wondered if that'd win Vi kudos or condemnation back in Slayerville when the story worked its way back...

Since their private conversation, Giles had been... remote. 'Remote': good word for it. Remote and introspective. Faith was finding it difficult to care. Maybe someday...

Meetings between Gunn and Hogan and O'Brien's people had been _amazingly_ less stressful for all concerned. Taking care of legal details and getting references to non-Wolfram and Hart attorneys that could deal with the ramifications of... supernatural legal difficulties had gone surprisingly well. Didn't hurt that both Gunn and Angel sympathized heavily with the idea of Hogan's people not getting any more heavily enmeshed with W&H than absolutely necessary...

Hours spent on the phone with Dawn kept her sanity semi-intact. She found she didn't mind in the least how much the phone time cut into her scant spare time for sleeping or working out. Even if they hadn't gone into the details of Faith's dreamways battle with Elora beyond that first conversation... the human contact with someone unconnected to the current mess was a lifeline for her. She'd never realized before how much she could enjoy just doing human things: listening to Dawn talk about school, Britian, her frustrations with the Watcher's Council HQ, and general gossip about the on-going circus that was Buffy's current non-slaying life.

Brr. Her breath smoked when she stepped out through the side doors into the little courtyard. 'Least Philly wasn't quite as anal about the smoking thing for hotels/motels as the rest of the world seemed to be getting: they had big stonework ashtrays disguised as planters by the little cluster of patio benches. She paused and stretched arching from tiptoes to fingertips before dropping bonelessly onto a bench and lighting her cigar. Stretched her legs out in front and crossed her feet at the ankles, heels digging twin furrows in the light covering of snow. At least the cold meant that no one else was going to be out here doing whatever people did in Marriott courtyards and shooting her disapproving glares over the cheroot and the haze of fragrant blue gray smoke it sent wafting up.

_'Kindly don't smoke where I'm breathing.'_ Faith snorted. _'Sure thing, Mac. Mind if I fart?'_ At least that was one thing she couldn't blame on Elora's influence: she hadn't had much respect for the 'legislate everything into a nice illusion of safety mindset' before she picked up an irreverent vampire in her mind.

The sound of the exit door opening and closing behind someone drew her attention even as her inner senses registered the presence of another from that direction. She glanced over to see Pemberton wander out wearing an overcoat and holding a meerschaum pipe, breath frosting as it hit the outside air. He gave her a slight nod and ended his way over when she didn't immediately shoot him a 'go the fuck away' glare, taking a seat at the shorter bench cattycorner from her.

"Nice to see that at least some parts of America haven't mandated all civilized pleasures out of public life," he took out a tobacco pouch and began the ritual of preparing the pipe.

"Says the resident of the country that's busily banning everything they can get their hands on from tobacco to self-defense," Faith remarked in an amiable tone.

Pemberton chuckled, "Yes. The grinning jacknape has rather gone overboard a bit on that, he and his NuLabour cronies, hasn't he?"

"Ya think?" Faith snickered and blew a smoke ring.

"Just a tad bit," Pemberton nodded.

Faith shot him a wicked sidelong glance and tipped her hat brim down slightly. "Yup. Me... I WANT high cholesterol. I wanna eat bacon and butter and BUCKETS o' cheese, k? I want to smoke Cuban cigars the size of Cincinnati in the non-smoking section. Wanna run through the streets naked with green Jell-o all over my body reading Playboy magazine. Why? Because I suddenly might feel the need to, okay, pal? I've SEEN the future. Do you know what it is? It's a 47-year-old virgin sitting around in beige pajamas, drinking a banana-broccoli shake, singing 'I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener'."

Pemberton gave her a slightly croggled look.

"Edgar Friendly. Demolition Man," Faith supplied. "All this crap: micro management, over legislation, zero tolerance, mandatory ID's, regulations, cotton ball safety nets... ain't America, bud. It's 'The United States' - there's a difference." She blew a smoke ring at him, "From what I've read o' the past... it ain't Britain, either. You're something else now. Something less."

"Ah. I find it difficult to argue with that," he remarked, "Even if I'm not inclined to cover myself with green jell-o."

"But I'll bet you read Playboy for the articles... "

Pemberton smiled slightly and didn't respond directly. He blew an experimental breath and watched it fog instantly. "Crisp day."

"Naw," Faith said. "Just below freezing. Comfy." She shook her head, "_Cold_ is a Southie brownstone at ten above in a 'Norther when your mom drank up the heating money."

He chuckled, "No. Cold is huddling under an improvised tarp on a ledge a third of the way up K9 in a blizzard. Ten above would be toasty in comparison."

"Damn," Faith raised an eyebrow. "You did the full Everest/K9 thing?"

"Partly." He shrugged. "When I was much younger and much more insane." He got the pipe going and puffed it to life. "We didn't make the full climb - almost lost two members to hypothermia and aborted the attempt before we lost them completely."

Faith nodded. "Gotta take care of your buds." She sipped her still hot coffee. Bless the technology gods for insulated travel mugs...

"Quite." Pemberton took on a distant look for a moment, then shook his head, "Afraid I never went back for another attempt."

"Too bad. Never been much for rock scaling, but - too bad." Faith remarked, "Urban mountaineering's more my speed."

"The Geoffrey Winthrop Young Cambridge Stegophily Society," Pemberton said, nodding. At Faith's raised eyebrow, he added, "He pioneered buildering - urban climbing - at Cambridge in the 1890's. It's still a popular student sport."

"Damn. You Brits have a formal society for everything." Faith laughed.

Pemberton smiled slightly and looked away, fiddling with his pipe for a time. Faith's mind drifted as well, heading back down the roads it'd been traveling before he'd come out. After a time, she jerked herself back to the present with a start, suddenly realizing she was the focus of an intense study on the Englishman's part.

"What?" She raised the cigar and blew the cherry to a bright glow, affecting casual indifference to the scrutiny. She took a drag and met his gaze curiously.

"I'd like to broach a subject with you that's been the topic of some discussion in Watcher's circles lately," Pemberton said, carefully.

"Oh?" Faith blew a stream of smoke, enjoying the way it mingled with the fog of breath.

"Yes." He nodded, still giving her that steady regard. "There are a number of us who would like for you to accept an assigned Watcher to take with you on your travels."

Faith couldn't help it: she gave him an incredulous look and then burst into a fit of laughter. When it subsided, she shook her head and finished her coffee, eyes dancing.

"Man. Gotta say - I wasn't expecting that." She laughed again, "Expression 'day late and a dollar short' grab you much?"

Pemberton raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Beg pardon?" He blinked.

"You had mentioned this a month or two ago," Faith took a contemplative drag from her cigar, "Might of been interested." She smiled softly. "Tell your 'number'... No."

"Faith... " He began, then paused before picking up the thought again, "While you've had some noteable success so far," Pemberton made a gesture in the direction of the city beyond the hotel, "you are the current Senior Active Slayer. As such, you not only have a need for the type of support that a Watcher can provide, you have at least some obligation to the Council for a chronicle of the things that you encounter."

"So you want to stick Mr. or Ms. Tweedy on a bike with a case of books and a laptop and have them trail me across the countryside through rain, snow, sleet and hail - to do me research and send back reports?" The mental image set her laughing again. "Naw. 'Sides: I have Watchers already. Don't need an 'official' one."

Pemberton blinked. "Watchers? I wasn't aware... " He recovered from the mild startlement and inquired, "Who, might I ask?"

"Dawn Summers and Wesley Wyndam Price." Faith said in a flat, bored tone. End of discussion as far as she was concerned.

Pemberton frowned. "Dawn Summers isn't a watcher. And Wesley Price doesn't work for the Watcher's Council."

"Neither did Rupert Giles for a long time while he was Buffy's Watcher. Didn't slow him down," Faith remarked. She uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, "Dawn knows the languages, she's good at the research and mythology, and she's competent. Wes... " Faith gave Pemberton an impish look, one that was only slightly malevolent. "Wes graduated from the very top of his classes at the Watcher's Academy, I'll have you know."

"Yes, I am aware of that." Pemberton said, dryly. "However, neither of them are official Watchers. And they don't submit journals to the Council."

"Gee. I'm liking this arrangement betterer all the time." Faith flowed onto her feet and ground out her cigar stub under a toe. She gave Pemberton a flat look, her eyes remote and opaque. "Answer is 'No'. Enjoy your smoke, Reggie." She shook her head and turned, heading for the building entrance with long strides. She yanked open the door and paused, looking back at him. "When you get back in, tell them I have things to do this afternoon and I took off. Have good meeting - enjoy much."

The door closed softly behind her heels as she disappeared from view.

Stalking angrily down the hallway through the Marriott lobby and out towards where she'd left her rented Jeep, Faith barely glanced at the front desk. It took her four more long steps before it registered on her that there was something familiar about the two men leaning on the counter and talking to the desk man, two more before it registered that the voices were familiar. She stopped, turning, and recognized Sam Winchester from his profile and then Dean from his voice as he argued with the person behind the desk.

Faith almost - _almost_ - shook her head in irritation and continued on, counting on the brothers' distraction to keep them from noticing her. _'Nah. Ain't going to get into that habit,'_ she thought. _'Not something I care for.'_

Growling under her breath, mostly over her irritation at Pemberton, she casually wandered over to the front desk and the Winchesters. Sam's eyes caught her before she was halfway across the lobby and he grinned, nudging Dean with his elbow and jerking his head in her direction.

Dean straightened, and strode over to her slowly. Faith stuck her hands in her back pockets for lack of anything better to do with them, and waited.

"Hey," Dean began.

"Hey yourself," Faith gave him a slow once over, and then grinned at Sam. "Sam. Lookin' good there." Sam nodded and folded his arms over his chest, coming to a rest a few feet behind Dean.

"Look... " Dean started again.

"You came back," Faith observed. Dean frowned as she cut him off again.

"Yeah, we did. Look, I wanted to... " Dean trailed off, shaking his head. "Tried to call a couple of times."

Faith looked at him blankly for a moment, then shook her head. "Yeah. Been keeping my phone off except when I was calling out. Cuts down on interruptions."

"Ah." Dean shrugged, "The little detective, Stevie? Suggested we might find O'Brien here. Was going to ask him if he knew where to get in touch with you." He trailed off again, then said, "Look... I shouldn't have taken off like I did. Especially not without finding out what happened to you."

Faith held up a hand, palm out. "Whoa. No need. No need to apologize, or explain, or whatever. Done, right?"

"Hey! I wasn't going to apologize... " Dean stopped looking slightly sheepish. "Ok, yeah, I was." Sam smirked behind him and Faith fought to keep an answering smirk off her face. "And I do need to... "

Faith cut him off again, shaking his head. "No, you don't. Look - we already knew that if things had gone differently you and Sam would have gone on your way the next day, or in another day or so. I think we figured out already that we approach what we do from completely different viewpoints an' attitudes, right? It's pretty obvious you decided our approaches weren't gonna mesh and you needed to move on."

Dean stared at her for a moment. "You're an absolutely infuriating woman, you know that?"

"Yeah," Faith cocked her head slightly, a half grin quirking up the corner of her mouth. "I work at it." Sam snickered slightly and Dean half turned to glower at him before turning back to Faith.

"You're good at it too." Dean shook his head, "Ok. Fine. I don't care if you want to hear it or not: it was an asshole thing to do for me to take off like that, I should have at least stuck around to see if you were ok and to help with the rest of this - and I apologize."

"Accepted." Faith regarded him steadily. "Anything else?"

"Arrggh!" Dean threw his hands up, "Fine. Have it your way." He glared, "Since no apology is needed, we don't seem to have anything left to discuss." Dean turned away, stalking toward the front doors of the hotel. "Coming, Sammy?"

"In a minute," Sammy threw after Dean's retreating back, watching Dean storm away with a mixture of exasperation and bemusement. Sam shook his head and looked back to Faith as the front doors closed behind his brother. "That was a bit cold. Called for, probably, but a bit cold."

"Yeah... " Faith made a vague motion, then pushed her hair back from her face and sighed heavily. "Chalk it up to 'it's been a rough couple of days', Sam." She paused, eyes searching his face and added, "Had it brought home to me recently that being around me is death on people I like. Twice. I can take a hint... " She shook her heaad, "You guys are best off going your own way. A bit cold beats a bit dead."

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Maybe," he added, looking unconvinced. He gave her an appreciative look, taking in the dressy jacket and pants. "You look good."

"Thanks," Faith smiled a bit more fully than before. She gave him a critical once over, "So do you."

"Backless gowns and IV tubing will do that for you," Sam grinned. He glanced at the doors again, "I think I'll refrain from reminding Dean that we parked in the back when I get to the car," he mused.

"Might be a good idea," Faith allowed, laughing. She decided she didn't really need to ask who's idea coming back had been. "O'Brien gave me your letter. Thanks."

Sam shrugged and looked uncomfortable, "Only right thing to do," he said. "So... rough couple of days?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Meetings and aftermath," Faith nodded. "Not my favorite part of an operation, yanno?"

"Yah. I like the 'Kill the bad guys and get out of dodge' approach, myself. Less paperwork," Sam made a face and Faith laughed again, agreeing.

"Am glad you came back," Faith said, smiling. "You can tell the chucklehead that if you want. Or not." Sam laughed and she added, "Glad to know you came out of this ok."

Nod. "Dean's heart's in the right place," Sam made a vague gesture. "It's just... "

"His head gets buried checking his depth perception?" Faith suggested, and Sam broke up laughing.

"Something like that," he agreed. "Another comment I am _not_ going to pass on to him."

"Yeah... " Faith grinned. "No worries. I did mean that, really. Ships that passed in the night an' all."

"Exchanging broadsides all the while?" Sam suggested and Faith broke up at that one.

"And boarding parties," she nodded.

"I _so_ did _not_ need that mental image, thanks," Sam made a face. He reflected a moment, then added, "I didn't need half of that mental image, anyway." He gave her an exaggerated leer and she laughed.

"So, all healed up and all?"

"Pretty much," Sam allowed. "About 95 percent maybe... I still get sore if I move too fast."

"Give it time." Faith gave him a thoughtful look, "I'm not sure what all the effects of slayer blood has on regular people, if any? Other than possibly helping you heal faster. Not like there was much choice at the time... " She paused and Sam nodded. "If anything comes up, give me a call and I'll put you in touch with someone that might can answer any questions for you."

"Will do," Sam said. he gave her a searching look, "Are you going to be ok?"

Faith considered for a minute, then smiled. "Yeah. Think so. All things considered."

"Good." Sam nodded, "I better go catch up to Dean before he has a meltdown."

Faith nodded and pointed towards the back of the hotel, "Parked thataway, remember?" Sam grinned. She stepped in impulsively and gave him a quick and awkward hug, "Take care of yourself, tough guy. And take care of your brother, too."

"Will do," Sam repeated and started toward the hotel's back exit. Faith watched him go for a moment, then had a thought...

"Sam?" She called. He paused, turning back toward her with a quizzical expression. She dug a card out of her inside pocket, frowning, then took on a decisive look and stepped toward him. She scrawled her cell number on the back and held it out, "Here. If you find your dad and are looking for something to do later, or if you just get ready for a change... call this number and ask for Vi, or for a Rupert Giles. Use my name to get their attention." He took the card, raising his eyebrows, and she added. "New International Watcher's Council. Can't say I always agree with them, but if they're going to put things together right - they're going to need good people. And you guys might need someplace where your unusual profession is a living and all."

"All right," Sam tucked the card into his wallet. "I'll keep it in mind." He grinned, "Faith? You take care of yourself, too. Later."

"Yeah," she watched him head down the hallway and out. _'Definitely grabbed the wrong Winchester to roll... '_

**...**

A quick detour by Angela's shop to pay her bills became a longer diversion than she'd planned, once she and the healer had started talking. She finally broke out of there reluctantly, after a couple of hours, so that she could take care of the other things on her mind...

Ugh. No matter how much she thought about it, she was _never_ going to understand how women like Cordelia and Buffy managed to get an almost orgasmic rush out of _shopping_ of all things. Now that she could afford to indulge herself on occasion, Faith's views on shopping tended to run along the lines of 'Barge in, see, want, buy, have, get the fuck out!' And preferably get the fuck out with the minimum of fuss and bother. Minimal casualties, too - although that was negotiable.

Not something you're likely to manage trying to do near last minute gift shopping a few days before Christmas, she reflected.

_'Assault shopping,'_ Faith snickered to herself. _'Wonder if there's potential for a school teaching that as a fine art? Get in, get out - and Take No Prisoners!'_

Ok... she was willing to make an exception for weapon and weapon accessories shopping. _That_ she could cheerfully spend hours at. Christmas shopping, on the other hand...

O'Brien and Giambione had been easiest, interestingly. A pair of elegant, silver and jet celtic crosses had caught her eye and suggested themselves. One of each, and one for Gunn. Finding a priest to bless the non-standard crosses for her had taken longer than the purchase. A not-quite-matching but complimentary (uncomplimentary?) pair of hideous, hand painted, and brightly colored novelty ties had made for an irresistible joke gift to spring on them before handing them the real gift in the tiny jewelry boxes. She couldn't wait to see their faces when they opened the tie packages. Revenge for the unexpected birthday surprise? Naw... not much.

Just amusing in a warped sort of way.

A wicked and elegant looking Bill Luckett combat knife from a custom cutlery shop had practically jumped out and screamed 'Abby' at her. The same priest hadn't batted an eye at blessing that one for her along with the crosses... apparently people other than Major Cases weren't oblivious to the city's 'night life' issues, either.

Blade and King had been a bit harder to shop for. A chance attraction to a window display had led her into an African shop where a short discussion with the bored looking salesman over the relative merits of touristy crap vs authentic quality had ended abruptly when she rolled her eyes partway through and ended it by carefully laying one of the blackwood Makombe knives on his counter and remarking that yes, she did know the difference. Or near enough as to be able to tell crap when she saw it...

His response had been to examine the blade carefully - without touching it - and then retreat to the back momentarily, returning almost reverently with a tray of exquisitely hideous ebony, silver, and gold pendants.

When, during the course of identifying the various deities represented in the carved pendants, he'd gotten to a horned representation of Achimi, the goddess responsible for hunting and meat-eating, and explaining how her demesne was rather daft for an edible deity... her warped sense of humour kicked in and she realized it ws perfect for King. A pendant of the Burger Goddess... It even came with an elegantly printed tag explaining the background. She was pretty certain the joke wouldn't get past him.

A dual aspected pendant of two toned wood and silver representing Adroa; God of Two Halves: a Creator God, half good and half evil made a perfect analogy for the duality of Blade. Wrap them up, she'd take them with, thank you verra much. Deities to go - whatta concept. Take two - they're small. And very, very old...

Angel... Hrrm. So, what do you get for the vampire that has everything except redemption?

A small art shop answered that for her with an impact that left her breathless. It was almost two and a half feet high and beautifully carved of some light colored wood: a nude study of a winged man caught half kneeling, palms and face turned upwards as if in rapt wonder at some unseen beauty...

With the other half of the statuette's face a vein of dark, almost black wood and carved in an expression of purest malice and wretched anguish.

She barely noticed the gallery woman's less than flattering appraisal of her dress and calculation of her apparent finances, nor her suddenly changed demeanor after she'd run the check on the credit card Faith thrust at her with a murmured "I'll take it to go - do you wrap?"

Packages stowed carefully in the rear floorboards of the rented vehicle and hidden beneath scattered newspapers, she noticed that it had gotten more'n a bit late on her and hit a nearby restaurant for some food, coffee, and a break for her feet. Not necessarily in that order. Not a bad afternoon and evening's work, all in all, she reflected... but if she ever got her hands on the idiot that came up with the 'women love shopping' stereotype...

'Tis the season, and all that. Whatever that means.

Even exhausted, annoyed, and immersed in a meal, she registered first the interest and a familiar sense to her watcher long before he decided to approach. When he came up to her table with a softspoken "Mind if I join you?", she glanced up from her dessert with a smile and a raised eyebrow and gestured him to pull out a chair.

"Hey there, Cornfed," Faith gave the blonde man taking a seat across from her a genuine smile.

Riley Finn shook his head in mock disgust, and smiled back. "Should know better than to try to sneak up on slayers, shouldn't I?"

"Or get lots better at it, yup," Faith agreed. "I spotted you trailing me over an hour ago."

"Figures," Riley laughed. "Oh well. It's an impossible job... "

"So why the hell did they stick me with it?!" Faith chimed in laughing, finishing the last part for him.

"Not quite where I was going with that, but it works," Riley replied, smiling. "You're looking good."

"So're you," Faith stated, giving him an appreciative once over as the waiter came over to take his order. After he'd ordered coffee for himself, and the waiter had gone, she added, "Married life must agree with you. Your better half around?"

He shook his head, "Home leave. Probably coming up with new, creative descriptions for the idiots that insist on taking expecting women out of the field."

"Coolness. And congrats," Faith grinned. "Boy? Girl?"

"No idea," he said, ducking his head with a smile. "We're going to let it be a surprise." For a moment, Riley's face looked as boyish as it had when she'd first seen him in Sunnydale - a look she suspected he hadn't worn for a long time now. She wondered how much she'd had to do with him losing it...

"Figured you might be around once I noticed that with all this 'terrorism and Homeland Security', there didn't seem to be a lot of actual DHS presence or activity. Gots you stuck with 'plausible explanations' duty?" Faith kept her voice low to prevent anyone overhearing above the restaurant noise levels.

"No small thanks to you," Riley gave her an exasperated glower.

"Sorry. Am I arrested now?" She crossed her wrists and held them out with a plaintive expression, "Cuff me, ossifer... "

"Naw. You'd enjoy it too much. The cuffs, anyway," Riley grinned back at her wicked expression. "Did cause us a hell of a lot of behind-the-scenes, though. Maybe give us a call first next time you're planning to turn a city on its ear?"

"Ummm... sorry. It kinda snuck up on me?" Riley raised his eyebrows at that and she gave him a contrite look. "Did, honest. This wasn't _planned_, exactly... "

"In that case, God help us if you _plan_ something," Riley waved it off. "It's ok, Faith. Comes with the package. Let's get together before I leave and you can give me a full rundown, and we'll call it done."

"Works," Faith agreed. She gave him a considering look, "Look, Riley... I was a bit too overwhelmed before. I know I apologized for everything, but... I don't think I thanked you properly, and I owe it to you."

"For... ?" He gave her an inquiring and slightly uncomprehending look.

"For... " Faith made an inclusive gesture. "Everything. Records, interceding... everything."

"Ah." Riley gave her an embarrassed look and glanced away. "You don't really owe me any. Thank our agency if you need to thank someone."

"No." The unexpected firmness in her voice brought his eyes back to her. "Agencies and bureaus don't do things. _People_ do. You thank _people_, not agencies." Faith took a deep breath, "I wasn't involved with that Initiative mess - Buffy and her Scoobies were. Graham, no one else had any reason to include me or even think about me when you guys drew up that agreement and other stuff. Had a lot of time to think it through: you were the only one that might have suggested including me. And you were the one that interceded at my rehearings." She nodded, "So... thanks. And I owe you one. You, not some 'Agency'. You."

Riley stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and a lopsided smile went over his lips. "All right. You're welcome."

"Cool." Faith grinned back, then cocked her head, sobering slightly. "Not sure I understand why, all things considered... ?"

"All things considered?" Riley colored slightly and glanced away briefly before looking back at her, "Complicated. I'm... not sure I can explain it myself."

"Know how that goes," Faith murmured. Her eyes were understanding, "Ever figure it out, consider letting me know? I'm all about complicated these days." Her grin was somewhat lopsided.

Riley considered that, and blew out his breath softly. He nodded, "If I ever figure it out. Deal."

"Cool." Faith nodded with a solemn expression, then asked, "So... just how big a mess did I hand you guys?"

"Not too bad, all things considered," Riley gave a short laugh, his eyes twinkling. "I think most of it came from your... cop friends? And their err... impromptu recall elections campaign."

"Good word for it," Faith laughed. "And don't worry about it: the 'I have cop friends? How the fuck did that happen?!' thing still causes me to wig on occasion, too." She gave him an exaggeratedly startled expression and he laughed. "Glad it wasn't too big a mess... you are up on some of the reasoning behind the... recalls?"

"Yeah," Riley nodded. "There's an even mix of reactions between appreciating the head's up, and wanting to strangle you for alerting us to a new danger in a quarter we really hadn't anticipated." Faith shook her head with a rueful expression. "How about you? Any of the fallout being a problem for you?" Riley asked.

"Hrmmm... " Faith considered, "Not really, so far. I think Hogan and O'Brien've been shielding me from the majority of it. Of course... I still supposedly have a pair of FBI agents I need to talk to, I understand."

"Ah. Doggett and his partner?" Riley nodded. "They're... attuned to the weirdnesses, if that helps. Need us to chill them out for you?"

"Hrrmmm... " Faith repeated, then shook her head, "Naw. I need to learn how to do this if I'm gonna. Not like I'm going to stop 'hunting weirdness', and if you chill them, I'll just have to be looking over my shoulder for the next time they pop up, right?" At his nod, she added, "'Sides... I'll have Hogan, O'Brien, and my Evil Lawyer at my shoulder. As long as they don't decide to whisk me to Guantanamo without a trial, should be workable. And if they do... I'll make sure Gunn knows to sic you on 'em."

"They... shouldn't," Riley said after giving it a judicious amount of consideration. "Just rein in your smartassery and keep the 'X-Files' and "Mulder and Scully' wisecracks to a minimum. I understand they've heard them all and Doggett doesn't consider them funny."

"Right. No Sculder and Mulley cracks for the Feebies. Got it." Faith nodded. She gave him an innocent look, "How about Special Unit 2?"

"You know," Riley gave her a long suffering look, "I understand Guantanamo really isn't THAT bad once you get used to it... "

"Right. Special Unit 2's out also," Faith nodded, her eyes dancing merrily. "Got it." She cocked her head and asked seriously, "Sense of humour surgically removed at Quantico, you think?"

Riley spluttered, "Probably?" He gave her a look, "You're incorrigible, huh?"

"It's bound to be the death of me one day," Faith agreed sadly.

"Most likely," Riley shook his head. He flushed slightly after a few minutes when he noticed Faith studying him intently. "What?"

"You're for real, aren't you. It's not just a good act," Faith's eyes bored into his for a few moments longer, and then she leaned back, looking puzzled.

"Huh?"

"You don't hate me," Faith stated. "I was too wrapped up to really register that before, between the trial and the re-hearing and everything. If I noticed, it didn't really register." She turned a puzzled frown on him, "That kind of boggles me. You were one of the bystanders I really screwed over," she made a vague wave of her hand, "in all that."

"Oh." Riley looked uncomfortable, then shrugged. "Probably a good thing you didn't come back to Sunnydale immediately afterwards. I _did_ hate you for that - for a long time."

"That I could understand," she said with a sour expression. "Wouldn't blame you a bit."

RIley shrugged, "I got pretty dark myself for awhile there, later on, for reasons that had nothing to do with you." He paused and cupped his hand as if searching for the right words, "Made me understand... how easy it can be to go there." He paused... "How hard it is to come back." He gave her an odd look, "Understanding makes it hard to hang onto hate."

Faith nodded, "Dark, huh? You'll have to explain that to me, sometime."

"No, I really don't. And it's not something I _want_ to explain." Riley stood up from the table, shaking his finger at her sternly, "Remember: we need to talk privately, soon." He grinned, "Take care, Faith. And Merry Christmas."

"You too, Cornbread," Faith said, softly. She laughed when she noticed that he'd palmed _both_ checks as he'd gotten up, and shook her head looking after him. Interesting. _'Men really __are__ an alien species... '_

**...**

Nothing but a dim Philadelphia alleyway, off of a near deserted downtown side street she'd passed on her way back the parking garage she'd left her rented car in. No sign of the vampire she'd chased in here, anywhere - and the alley dead ended at a wall at the end of its length between buildings.

No place in the alley deep enough to hide a passed out wino, much less a vampire dragging a struggling victim.

_'Trap,'_ she thought. _'No idea who or what, no sign of it springing, so time to ease out'._ Always interesting to see what a trap looked like turned inside out from within, but she wasn't working at the moment, had made too many enemies recently to care for being stupid about things... and there was no percentage in it. She began to back slowly out of the alley, senses alert to everything around her.

He stepped out of a shadowed doorway off to her right, one that wasn't deep enough to hide a rat. Locked and chained too, so he didn't come through the door. Unless he came _through_ the door, which was always possible. Small, very badly dressed fellow with a ratty pork pie hat, looking like a broken down racetrack tout. Or a seedy mobster.

"Whistler," She stopped, looking him over. "Fancy meeting you here," she cocked her head looking him over. She'd never actually met the balance demon - but she'd heard enough about him from B and from Angel to put the description with what she was seeing.

"Slayer," he said, walking towards her. He either didn't notice she'd never submerged the slayer essence while studying him like fresh roadkill, or didn't care. Pity, that.

"Close enough," she said. "And not a word, 'Balance Demon'."

"Hey -"

"Fair warning. I'm not interested." She let her eyes go lidded, "Shut the fuck up and vanish or I remove your spine and have it for a belt."

"What _is_ it with you two broads and body parts?" He complained, starting to take another step and shaking his head.

Two long steps, lambent green fire crackling around her hands, and the point of the Valdris blade stopped a bare fraction of an inch from the tip of his nose. He looked cross-eyed at it, comically, coming to a dead stop. She wondered if he realized just how close that was to being literal.

"That would be a word," she remarked, casually. "Several of them, matter of fact." She smiled, "You're a bit hard of listening, hey?"

He retreated a step, mesmerized by the blade point. She moved with him and the glittering tip never left his nose. He started to say something and she touched his nose tip with it, just enough for him to feel. A drop of sweat began a slow trickle from under the hat and down along his face.

"Careful. This cat can _take_ your tongue," His mouth shut with a click and he glared at her, worriedly. "I'm not interested in whatever you have to say. Bye. Vaporise."

After a time, he raised his hand in a gesture that was so like a kid in class that she almost laughed and spoiled the effect. She looked him over, appraisingly. Nodded, "One question. Make it good."

"Why?"

Lazy grin. "Because you fucked over Angel's life, you fucked over Buffy's life, and _you_ are _not_ going to fuck over _mine_." His mouth twitched and she said, "Ah ah... I said 'One'. That was it."

He glared, but had a momentary lapse into sentience and didn't say anything. She gave him an approving look. "I may have to occasionally play step-n-fetch-it to the Powers That Be who've managed to delude themselves into thinking they're my bosses. Generally when something heavy's on the line. But I _don't_ have to put up with _you_."

She moved the blade tip, watching his crossed eyes follow it. "And I won't. Ever." Soft laugh. "Spine. Fashion accessory. Won't be pretty." There was a crackle and a flare of green flame, and one of the curved blades went away.

Moved the blade away from his nose suddenly, a near invisible blur, and stepped in low and fast. When she stopped, he was dangling from the end of her fist by his bunched collar and that edge was resting lightly across his throat. She let her eyes bore into his from inches away, noses almost touching.

"Tell them to find someone else. If I like them, I _may_ deal with _them_. Not you. Not ever." She let her aspect come fully to the surface, and what looked closely into his eyes wasn't even as remotely human as he was. "I don't see you, Whistler. Not from this moment on. You work for no one I'm interested in, from this moment. You have nothing to say I care to hear. They send someone else if they want to talk to me, not you. _Ever_."

"Because if I do see you, ever again... " Her voice was as soft as a lover's caress, "Or feel your presence, or hear you... You won't be a Power's lackey to me. You'll be _prey_. And I hunt demons, remember?" She suddenly had a handful of nothing and she felt no presence in the alleyway with her.

The blades faded from her hands and she tossed her head and laughed, and sauntered back out to the street. 'Tis the Season indeed.


	31. Chapter 31: Just one night

**Chapter 31: **_**"Just one night... "**_

(Day 19, _Tuesday December 23, 2003_)

She'd wussed out in the end, letting Riley use his Homeland Security contacts and weight to quietly step on Doggett and Reyes and get them to settle for a witnessed, signed, and notarized statement and deposition from her in lieu of her sitting through an interview with them.

After all, as Riley had pointed out during his debriefing of her the day following their restaurant encounter, they'd already interviewed Hogan, O'Brien, Giambione, and the rest of the Major Cases squad - thoroughly - and there wasn't much that she could add on any of their major areas of interest. Riley grilled her endlessly for hard information and observations, veered away without comment from names and areas she made it clear she wasn't going to volunteer info on, and made it an as generally painless process as possible.

Riley puzzled her, and she found herself studying him quietly and circumspectly as he interviewed her for the details of the situation. She found herself coming to the rather startling conclusion that it wasn't an act: that while there were levels and layers to the man that weren't apparent just at a surface glance, with Riley Finn what you saw really was what you got. A fairly decent, open guy who knew what it was like to get beat on by life, but who seemed to still manage to hang on to that Clark Kent outlook...

That disconcerted her. In her limited experience - err, make that extensive experience - with men, she'd come to the conclusion that genuinely decent guys were a rarity that should be carefully collected and kept in a museum for curious onlookers to goggle at. She wondered how B had ever managed to let this specimen get snagged out from under her by Samantha Finn.

Then again, going by her equally extensive experiences with women, genuinely decent women were pretty rare as well. She doubted that Buffy qualified any better than she did... maybe it was more a matter of Riley being lucky to escape alive and only slightly mangled.

'Wussed out' wasn't quite accurate. 'Decided she wasn't able to cope effectively with Doggett and Reyes' was closer to the mark by that point. She figured that evading the FBI agents would come around to bite her at some point, but she really couldn't quite bring herself to care. After meetings with the IWC, strategy sessions with Major Cases, and too many sleep-broken nights filled with fragmented dreams where her mind would take out and run Elora's swallowed memories in an unintelligible kaleidoscope of imagery... she was honestly too exhausted to care.

The funeral and memorial for Colby Burn's partner, lost during the end of that vicious battle at Eastern State Penitentiary, was depressing enough. She'd gone with O'Brien and Giambione as a gesture of something, she wasn't quite sure what... solidarity perhaps? Or maybe as a gesture of respect for the bleak and clearly grieving Burns. She understood loss, especially in combat. Seemed like that was one of the few things she did understand well these days - too much experience at it.

It had seemed to her that every cop in Philly as well as the two visiting FBI agents, plus a few from surrounding areas and the State Highway Patrol, had descended in force upon the cemetary. Judging by the curious glances, more than a few of them wondered at the identity and presence of herself, Abby, King, and the forbidding Blade, but none approached them to ask. Riley's dress uniformed presence drew nearly as many curious looks, as did that of Vi and Giles, and just as few questions. She decided from the way that eyes would shift away whenever one of them returned a look that curious or not, no one really wanted to know...

She paid her respects and stood quietly by Burns and her friends in support, and fled as soon as it was circumspect to do so - wondering as she left if when she went there'd even be a grave, much less a service or anyone to remember.

Worse was the quiet, very small, and very exclusive memorial for Nikki Rimbault. Worse because it highlighted the absence of the official service and memorial she would never have... and somehow more fitting, limited as it was to herself, Tom Kirkwood, and the members of Major Cases quietly trading reminisnces of the woman they'd known. Them trading, her listening. That one reminded her far too much of the few equally private post death gatherings she'd been present for in Sunnydale and after, and hit her on a gut level in a way that the bigger service hadn't. Gather, grieve and remember quietly and in private, because in this war there usually weren't bodies to bury and no way to explain holding a memorial for the missing that you knew were never coming back.

Officially, Nikki Rimbault was listed as missing following the fires that burned Rimbault's Bar to the ground and the rioting of that night. Only the handful of people here would ever know different, and none of them would ever be able to say otherwise.

Except to each other... she didn't envy Hogan, O'Brien and Kirkwood the task of either mouthing the 'official' line to Nikki's son, or that of finding a way to privately let him know the real score.

Kirkwood carefully and unobtrusively avoided her at the memorial gathering just as he had ever since she'd thrown him bodily away from the thing that had once been O'Brien's lover and Kirkwood's friend, and she really couldn't blame him for it. It boggled her slightly that Colby Burns didn't avoid her or seem to blame her for his partner's death. Much.

It boggled her more, still, that O'Brien didn't seem to blame or draw back from her over Nikki's death. It scared her more than a bit to realize how much of a vacuum the sardonic older cop would leave if he had pulled away or pushed her off.

**...**

(Day 21; _December the 25th, 2003: Christmas Day_)

"Arrrrrrrggggghhh," Faith groaned, let out a satisfied belch and settled back into the sofa, crossing her feet at the ankles on O'Brien's coffee table. Stuffed full and comfortably relaxed.

Giambione looked mock-askance at her, and then turned the look on his partner. "You didn't tell me she was hollow."

"Why do you think I got six precooked smoked turkey breasts and five gallons of fixings?" O'Brien replied. "I've seen her eat before."

Faith smirked and gave him the finger. "Growing girl," she remarked. "Need my nourishment."

"And the nourishment of six small third world countries," Giambione smirked back at her and handed her a cold Dos Equis as he plopped into an armchair with a groan. "I think I lost fingers."

"Told ya to keep them on your side of the table," Faith accepted the beer and sank lower into the cushions.

"I did," he gave her an affronted look. "_Someone_ kept asking 'You gonna eat all that?' and stealing cranberries off of _my_ plate."

"They looked lonely. You weren't paying enough attention to them." She grinned.

Pre-cooked smoked turkey breasts. Canned cranberries. Deli stuffing, instant mashed potatoes, and packaged rolls. Store bakery pecan pie, cookies, and fudge for dessert and snacks. Pre-decorated and frosted artificial tree. Stack of assorted Christmas DvDs for later. O'Brien definitely wasn't going to make the lists of gourmet chefs or elaborate decorators any time soon. Faith couldn't remember having a more satisfying or enjoyable Christmas since that long ago one at Buffy's mom's house after she'd first hit Sunnydale.

Maybe _including_ the one at B's mom's, she reflected, and that was one of the few good ones she could remember. Beat pure hell out of a string of cheap lights and TV in a motel room, anyway.

Both detectives had elected to pass on the usual round of obligatory station house Christmas parties and Cop Bar parties; neither being in the mood for crowds, forced cheer, or socializing with colleagues. O'Brien had made a brief appearance at the Mid South Xmass party, Faith in tow, to drop off gifts and cards and exchange greetings. Frank had done the family thing on Christmas Eve (huge Italian family and multi-day event according to him) while O'Brien and Faith had opted for vegetating and watching the parades, Christmas Eve specials, and sports on TV. Giambione had joined them in early evening for dinner after putting in an afternoon appearance at the family, again, and they'd spent it eating, joking around, and generally loafing.

"Besides, you already did an early meal at your folks," Faith noted, swiping another forkfull of cranberries. "You couldn't be _that_ hungry."

"Growing boy," Frank rejoined.

Faith snickered and eyed the front of his shirt, "Growing waistline. Another ten years and you'll look like Hogan."

"I'll tell Paul you said that," O'Brien remarked, leaning back and nursing his beer.

"Eeek. At least wait until he recovers from the tie, please," Faith gave him a slightly alarmed look. "Don't want to add any more years onto my probable sentence."

"That tie _was_ a crime of some sort," O'Brien agreed.

"Felony at least. But - he can use it for a night light," Frank snickered and dodged the cushion Faith mimed throwing at him. "Still, I invited you to tag along. You could have done your Amazing Locust Impression twice."

"I know. Wasn't in the right place for crowds of strangers," Faith nodded.

"Hey - ten minutes after my mom and grandma saw you and you wouldn't be a stranger."

"And fifteen minutes later," O'Brien remarked, "they'd have been sizing her up as your fiance and asking when you two were going to tie the knot and start churning out little Irish-Italian grand babies for them."

"You mean we're thinking about allowing Frank to _breed_ some day?" She shook her head sadly, "Is the world ready for this?"

"Your delinquent is picking on me again, Obie" Giambione said in an aggrieved tone.

"So? Make her stop."

"I would, but I'm pretty sure she can beat me up."

"Damn straight," Faith nodded seriously. She picked up the remote and aimed it at the DvD player.

"So... what're we watching first?" Frank settled back, looking content.

"Die Hard," O'Brien replied.

"Die Hard?!"

"Hey - it's a Christmas movie." Faith made a mock pouting face at Giambione's eye roll, "What?! It is too: watch it and you'll see."

_Later..._

Gifts exchanged and opened, dessert and coffee eaten and drunk, and Giambione had begged off finally to wander home. Or to wherever he planned to spend the rest of his Christmas night.

While O'Brien cleared empty bottles and debris to the kitchen, Faith wandered out onto the balcony of O'Brien's very narrow lot two story brownstone and lit a cigar, watching her breath fog as she looked out over the neighborhood. The blanket of snow made it look like a postcard, far removed from the normal dinge and grunge of South Philly.

About two thirds of the way through the smoke, she heard him join her on the small balcony. She flashed a glance and a quick smile his direction and returned to gazing off into the night.

"You know you can smoke in the house, right?"

"I know," Faith shrugged. "S'all right - I like the cold. Clears your head."

O'Brien nodded and draped her coat over her shoulders from behind, one handed. He handed her a steaming mug from the other, "Here you go: Irish Coffee against the chill."

"Mmm, thanks," she took the mug and held it under her nose, drinking in the heady aroma of strong coffee and good whiskey.

"No problem." He put one arm across her shoulders and settled in next to her, looking out over the street. Faith stiffened slightly, out of reflex, then relaxed against the warmth. O'Brien sipped from his coffee and they stood comfortably for a bit as the snow fell.

"Still auditioning, Five-oh?" Faith cut her eyes and a small grin up at him.

"Maybe?" O'Brien chuckled and then shook his head, "Nah. You're a twenty year old young woman who doesn't need a beat up elderly flatfoot for an adopted dad substitute."

"Right," Faith nodded. "And you're a fifty something year old cop who doesn't need a delinquent ex-con vampire hunting adopted daughter in your dotage."

"Right," O'Brien nodded back, then looked at her sharply. "Hey! Dotage?"

Faith smirked, "Ok... declining years?"

"Much better," he agreed.

"Right. Wouldn't work out."

"Not at all."

"Glad we got that settled," she said.

"Damn straight."

Faith laughed, softly. She went back to watching the snow patterns.

After a time, "Nickle for your thoughts?"

Faith laughed again, "Because of inflation?"

"Right."

She considered for a bit, then said... "Ever read comics when you were a kid?"

"Yup. Superman, Batman, Justice League, Spiderman... Archies," O'Brien nodded.

"Ah. The classics," Faith grinned. "So that's where you got that Truth, Justice, and the American Way thing?"

"No, that's Frank's deal. I wanted to be Batman when I grew up."

"Cool. So you got your wish, huh?"

"Don't know," O'Brien said, musing. "Haven't grown up yet."

"Ha. Heard that," Faith nodded, looking out into the snow. She paused for a long time, finally taking a long drag off of her cigar before flicking it out into the drifts. "I liked Daredevil. Man Without Fear and all that shit, y'know? Thought that would be so cool to not be afraid of anything... "

She trailed off and was silent for a time. O'Brien made an encouraging sound in his throat, and let her thoughts flow.

"There was this one issue... can't remember who did it," She continued after a time. "Xander would know, I bet... he knows all that geek shit. Anyway... I think it was a giant sized Annual or something. Called 'Just One Night', I think."

"Uh huh," O'Brien looked down, watching her watch the snow.

"Anyway... the deal was, just one night, Daredevil would stress his radar thingy to the max and rush all over New York stopping murders on Christmas. He had kind of a vow to himself that, for one night - just one - no one was going to die in his city. Not one single person." Faith lit another cigar and stood contemplating the smoke for a long moment. "Was thinking about that... first time I've remembered it in years."

She paused again and he let her find her own time for whatever she was searching to say...

"All of this kinda reminded me of that," Faith gestured out over the snow covered neighborhood with her cigar. "Tonight, there's people that _aren't_ getting drained or turned out there. There's homeless people and run aways that _aren't_ getting snatched and dragged off to be wrapped in plastic and turned into bloodbanks. They may not have an easy time of it... some of them may freeze on the streets or die otherwise.. but just for now, they're not becoming food for _things_ this Christmas."

"It won't last," O'Brien remarked.

"I know," Faith cut him a wicked look. "Cynic."

"Sorry," he replied and she snickered.

"You're right. It won't last... but _just_ for tonight, and maybe for tomorrow and a few nights to come, it will," she blew a smoke ring out into the snow where it was tattered by falling flakes. "Because of us."

O'Brien considered that for a time and couldn't find any flaws in it, "Good feeling, isn't it?" He said, finally.

"Yup. The best." Faith quirked a half smile, "Kinda like our Christmas present to them, y'know? And none of them will ever know about it."

They wre both quiet for a long time afterwards, contemplating and watching the snow.

Faith took a long sip from her whiskeyed coffee. "Neat house."

"My parent's house," O'Brien said. "I grew up here."

"Really?" There was wonder in her voice.

"Really," he nodded. "Devil's Pocket kid, born and raised. Paid off the mortgage and bought it after my folks died."

"Wow," Faith thought about that. "Continuity. That's kind of cool."

"Has its moments," he agreed. He was thoughtful for a time... "They started revitalizing the neighborhood a bit, last decade or so. Still a big Irish borough, even so." He paused, then, "So... going to be moving on soon?"

"Yeah. Life's a road and it's starting to call again," Faith shook her head, sighed. "Baltimore I think, next. Seem to recall I had an uncle who moved there... need to look him up if he's still alive and ask him some things."

"Not right away, though."

"Naw," Faith frowned. "Not for a few days, yet." She sighed... thinking. Faith frowned inwardly at the half memories. If her family had been normal Boston Irish, she'd have had freaking tons of relatives, aunts, uncles, granparents on both sides, cousins, and semi-cousins to draw on for tracking down leads on her possible lost 'sister' mystery. _'Instead, I managed to get the one where all of the members either died off early or scattered acrost the damned country without bothering to maintain contacts with anyone,'_ she mused. _'Damned Halloran's couldn't even manage Boston Irish right.'_ If it hadn't been for her court records, she'd barely have been able to remember her mom's maiden name from before her first aborted marriage. As it was... for all Faith knew, she could be related to O'Brien or even Riley somewhere way back. Damned sure couldn't prove it by her memories or family records. Not for the first time... she wondered if some of her memory _hadn't_ gotten knocked all screwy by the injuries leading to her eight month coma. There was always a kind of a... fuzziness... to her long ago memories of Boston, these days.

_'Screw it. Family is what you freaking make of it.'_ Faith thought. _'And the hell with it. Life __is__ a road. Tired of just bumping into people on it and moving on without leaving marks... '_ She contemplated the cherry on her cigar for a time, "Y'Know? We could give it a try if you wanted," she said in a diffident tone of voice.

"We could?" O'Brien blinked and looked sharply at her, lost on the conversational curve.

"The adopted delinquent/adopted flatfoot thing," she clarified.

"Ah. That 'try'," O'Brien nodded. "I suppose we could, if you wanted." He made it sound diffident, casual, matching her tone.

"Well... they say that 'home' is where when you go there, they have to take you in," Faith remarked. "Never had any place where they had to take me in - mom always wanted me gone." She took a drag off of the smoke and washed it down with the last of the Irish coffee. "Might be kind of nice to have a place to come back to for holidays."

"Send post cards to," O'Brien suggested.

"Letters even," Faith agreed.

"You'll have to buy your own groceries," he stated. "And if you get a puppy, you're cleaning up after it."

Faith laughed, tossing her head back, "Promise." She glanced sidelong at him, "But you get to put me through college."

"Oh lord," he intoned, mournfully. "There goes my pension."

"Damn straight. Should've gone for feeding me instead."

"Right. I think college is cheaper," O'Brien smirked, then groaned as she elbowed him in the ribs. "Ready to go in and finish the movies?"

"Might as well." Faith stuck the cigar in the corner of her mouth and stepped away to pull the door open. "What's up next?"

"Christmas Story."

"That the one with the BB-gun?"

"Got it in one," O'Brien said. "Darren McGavin."

"Oh lord... we'll put our eyes out watching that."

O'Brien laughed and followed her in...


	32. Epilogue: Those quiet euphemisms

**Epilogue: **_**"Those quiet euphemisms... "**_

He remembered when he used to use a clakety Underwood to write his columns on. Ink stained fingers, ribbons, sheaves of white bond paper... correcting an error or a typo wasn't a matter of 'Highlight' Backspace back then: it involved strike outs or Whiteout and type overs. No spell checkers. Sometimes a major error resulted in throwing away a crumpled half page of column when you discovered that your mind had led you into writing yourself into a corner you couldn't back out of...

You were careful not to make mistakes when you worked.

Things were a lot simpler in the old days.

_'Used to be, the hardest part about this damned job was finding the right words,'_ Tom Kirkwood shook his head at the bemused thought. He pushed his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose from where they'd slipped down. _'Then time passed and I got comfortable at it, got __good__ at it - hey, no false modesty __here__, boy - and finding the right words got easier. It was finding things worth writing about that got hard... '_

_'Not to mention figuring out how to put them __into__ words,'_ Kirkwood gave up for the moment, leaning back in his chair and stretching to work the kinks out of his back.

After a time he cracked his knuckles and bent back to his desk. No time worn Underwood here, now. His column gets done at the office on a black box with a gleaming nineteen inch monitor. At home, where he's writing now, it's a flat Sony laptop, minuscule in comparison to the massive old typewriter that still lurks on a shelf in his back closet. No whiteout, no overstriking, no ribbons, no wheels to change. Make an error and you just highlight, hit a key, and poof!, gone - vanished like it never happened. Magic.

It didn't mean you couldn't still write yourself into corners. Just meant you could hide the evidence a lot easier.

* * *

**Night Heat**  
_by Tom Kirkwood_

* * *

_'There you go. Got __that__ out of the way,'_ went through his mind. Not for the first time, he snickered imagining his editor's face if he turned in eleven blank column inches with nothing but that at the top and said, _"Here you go: that's all there is to say about it this week."_

The expression would probably be priceless for all of the fifteen seconds it'd take her to color all the way up to the hairline and stare at him looking for the punchline. He doubted there'd be any amusement when she figured out he was serious. Back around full circle: finding things to write about isn't hard any more. Figuring out how to put them into the neat, careful words that don't really say anything about the things that no one wants to print is hard.

And yet there's still column inches to fill...

* * *

We cover the night with quiet euphemisms. Terrorism, riots, ritual killings, mass murder - words that never quite describe the things that lay beneath them. Sanitized words. They're comforting: we don't really want to see the things that they're covering up.

It will be just after Christmas by the time this sees print, and there'll still be a blanket of snow covering the Philly streets. By that point, there'll still be a blanket of words covering the events of the past week or so, as well. It's probably better that way, when you get right down to it.

We don't really want to see it, because what's underneath that blanket of snow out there isn't always very pretty.

Ditto for what's under the blanket of words...

* * *

No... not very pretty. Not at all. A secret world filled with demons, vampires, and things that go bump in the night. Secret warriors that do battle with them.

Tom Kirkwood doesn't sleep very well any more. When he closes his eyes, he sees rows upon rows of bodies sandwiched in plastic with tubes. And lambent eyes, a distorted mouth, and fangs... _'Slayer... why did you stop him? So hungry... '_ Kirkwood jerked his eyes open. Heh. He tries not to close his eyes to think much, any more, either. No telling what you'll see behind the lids...

A small arm, impossibly strong, grabs him and hurls him back away from the thing that used to be his friend's ex-girlfriend. Stands between him and something ravenous as he sprawls spraddle-legged on the concrete by an alley. _'That's not Nikki. Not any more... '_ Something ravenous that used to be a friend.

No, better to keep them wide open. Not that that _helps_ any. You can still see what the words are covering up.

* * *

Riots and violence blanketed our city a number of days ago, the way the snow blankets it now. I'm sure by now you've all read the explosion of regular reports, seen the newscasters babbling into their lapel mikes with their lacquered hair, and watched the talking heads endlessly putting you at ease. Riots. Terrorist attacks. Breakdown in civil order. Co-ordinated assault upon police and civil authorities. Right-wing, Left-wing, fanatics...

By now you're probably as sick of the blanket of words as you are of the constant interruptions to your televised entertainments. And yet, here I am layering even more words on top of you. At least I can comfort myself somewhat with saying it's my job to layer words on you, to attempt to make some sense of the whole thing, or to at least divert you a bit.

It's not like you read the editorial columns for sense, anyway. Good thing: we generally don't have much to offer you. We're usually still trying to make sense of things ourselves, and typing out reams of column inches to hide the fact that we're just stumbling through the dark like you are.

Stumbling through the dark, and bumping into things with sharp corners. Only instead of cursing when the edges hurt, we type. It's our way of trying to find a light switch.

Just under ten days ago, the detectives at Mid South's Major Cases lost two of their own. "Lost" literally in the case of one of them: Nicole Rimbault's body has yet to be found, nor has any trace of her been seen since the ashes of Rimbault's Bar cooled enough for firemen to search the debris.

"Lost" euphemistically in the case of Detective Fred Carson, age 39. Died in the violence that struck Eastern State Penitentiary on the night of December 17, 2003 in the wee hours of the morning. Body cremated.

* * *

_'Body cremated,'_ Tom snorted. _'Nice quiet phrase that says he was burned to ash to make sure he didn't get back up and go looking for his former partners, only much... thirstier than he was before. Says nothing to anyone that doesn't know the score... and volumes to anyone that does.' _

He shook out his hands and then took a fresh carton of milk from the small bar frige next to his desk. Plastic litre cartons: no need for a glass these days, not like those old fashioned cardboard cartons you could never quite open without tearing the little 'Pull Here' triangle. Progress, of sorts.

Oh well. They fit a lot better on the shelves, and they serve the function. Better than reaching for a chilled Bushmills like he used to. Get lost in that, and soon you find your column inches dwindling down to zero, and you no longer have to _wonder_ what the editor's face looks like when you hand in a blank page...

Not a good trade. Not even if the milk doesn't help make the things behind your eyelids go away for a little while.

At least the keys on the laptop have a nice, solid, clickety feel to them. Not the rattle and clatter of an Underwood, but they're solid. Reassuring.

* * *

"Lost". That's another one of those quiet euphemisms. It sometimes means that we can't find them in the aftermath of violence and tragedy, like Nikki Rimbault. It sometimes means dead, like Detective Carson and all of the other police officers, firemen, and paramedics that were slain on the night of December the 16th and the early morning of the 17th. It sometimes means "not there any more", like the Bolton Estate house and Penn Ryan Manor - both burned to the ground on the same night. Quiet euphemisms. They cover a multitude of sins, both literary and actual.

* * *

_'Covering up sins seems to be what newsmen do. Like politicians. We do it with words, just like they do. Funny... '_ Kirkwood snorted under his breath, _'I once thought our job was to __uncover__ them. Wet behind the ears, then. Guess those days are gone forever. Wonder if I can sneak that line into the column without getting it red penciled?' _Worth a shot. He pressed keys again, glad to feel the words flowing...

* * *

Covering up sins seems to be what newsmen do. Like politicians. We do it with words, just like they do. Funny: I always thought our job was to uncover them. Times they do change.

"Assault on Civil Authority" - that's another euphemism, if you hadn't guessed. It's words to explain the disappearances and deaths of several dozens of people in the Mayor and City Council's offices, to cover the abrupt resignations and relocations of a large number of police brass since the 17th. It covers the unexpected deaths of several of them, as well. And it sounds so much more professional than "death by wild animal attack" that you've read in the front page accounts of the patrol officer's deaths.

Like "Mass Murder" - it's a sanitized phrase to describe the warehouses filled with plastic encased bodies you've seen on the nightly news. It puts a layer of remove between the reader and the images.

Politicians use them to cover the fact that they don't have control. Newsmen to sound like we know what's going on. FBI and Homeland Security uses them to soothe and prevent panic, or so they say.

What we're really doing is using them to try and make the incomprehensible something that we can grasp and deal with. Death, murder, assassination, and all of the other words that describe the explosion of voilence of past evenings are too bleak. They're a bit too large to take in on that scale. The euphemisms make the horror of those warehouses a bit easier to swallow and keep down.

They make it a bit easier to avoid the fact that the "Civil Authority" may not have any more control than us "Newsmen" know about reporting on these things. Those really aren't bleak words that anyone wants to wake up and contemplate with their morning papers a day or so after Christmas.

* * *

Better that than waking up and contemplating the fact that quite a few of those 'Civil Authorities' _work_ for the monsters, and they're quite _happy_ to feed you and yours to neat plasticine bloood factories. Just wouldn't do to point out that the politicians and more than a few of the law enforcement really _aren't_ on your side and it's not just an old cynical saw.

Might cause panic in the streets. Can't have that.

Printing it might get good old Kirkwood of the Eagle suddenly unemployed. Or eaten by things with lambent eyes and far too many teeth. Can't have that, either. Just wouldn't do.

And people might suddenly get the idea that there's no Security in the Homeland, and a vote really is a vote between two evils. Just like you always thought. Merry Christmas, would you like a cup of nightmare to go with your paper, sir?

* * *

New Year's is coming after all. That's supposed to be a hopeful time: a time of change and rebirth. It's really not a time to strip away the comforting euphemisms. Because without the euphemisms, it's too easy to realize that when you strip away the blanket of words, strip away the reassurances, and remove the layers of snow...

You're left with the fact that it's dark out there, and there's things in the darkness with teeth. Metaphorically, at least. One hopes.

* * *

It was nice to be able to leave the readers with that hope. A pity that they really weren't metaphorical, nor were the teeth.

That's another area where life used to be a lot simpler in the old days. He hadn't known back then that the things from the late night movies came out of the screen and wandered the streets at night.

* * *

One thing the words can do though, is illuminate the fact that not all of the death was meaningless. Sometimes they do serve a purpose - they can remind us of the patrol officers on the city's highways that died attempting to shield bystanders from the violence. They can remind us of the paramedics and rescue workers whom various officers owe their lives to. They can remind us of Detective Fred Carson, who was reportedly killed shielding a partner from attack.

They can remind us that even when we strip away the words and the snow to reveal the darkness underneath, we're not alone in it.

There's people who stand between us and the dark. Sometimes, that just has to be enough.

* * *

Not _many_ people, mind you. But after the past few weeks... there's a few more than there were. After seeing some of the things behind the teeth, and having Kevin O'Brien describe them, Kirkwood found himself wishing that was a more comforting thought.

A small young woman and those like her, a few demon hunters, and a handful of cops just didn't seem like enough.

Kirkwood stared for awhile at the display, rereading his efforts. He decided he wasn't completely satisfied, but it'd do. Time tomorrow to reread it and do some rewrite, if needed. Another night, another column. Nice, sanitized bullshit that managed to say nothing while saying... not quite everything.

He swiveled his chair to look out the window at the falling snow. News reports earlier had said that this could turn into a blizzard... He found himself running the last line of his column through his head, and thinking about a small, dark haired girl moving between bodies and piles of ash with inhuman grace and precision.

_'Screw it,'_ Tom shook his head. _'Sometimes, that's just __not__ enough. But it's all we have... '_

On an impulse, he snagged the handset to his cordless phone and picked an LA number off of his speed dial. The gruff, sardonic, familiar voice that answered "Beacon. Kolchak. Talk to me," after a bare three rings made him grin.

"Hey, Karl. Surprised to find you at the Beacon at this time of night on Christmas."

Questioning pause

"Yup. Got it in one - s'me, Kirkwood. How've you been?"

pause

"Doing all right. Your dad still living in the Keys?" pause "Good to hear. How's the old bastard doing?"

pause

"Yeah yeah - Merry Christmas to you, too. And say a Merry Whatever to that sexy lady reporter you hang with, while you're at it."

Laughing pause

"Same as you. Working on getting some column inches done for the post holiday rag. Only I'm doing it in the comfort of my home," Kirkwood snickered.

He paused to listen for awhile.

"Ha. Yeah... if you've been watching the news lately, I'm pretty sure you've heard we've been jumping out here."

pause

Kirkwood made a snorting sound, followed by, "Why Mr. Kolchak - _whatever_ would make you think there's more going on than you'd read in the Eagle? I'm shocked - shocked I say - that you would ask such a question."

long pause

"snicker Yeah yeah. Sure, I can fill you in, off the record, natch," Kirkwood laughed. "What're friends for? You happen to have a few hours handy... ?"

**The End**


	33. Author's Postscript

**Postscript -  
**

**Afterword for **_**"Life is a Road "**_**:**

I was rereading this story recently to refresh my memory on details in preparation for writing the sequels, and I realized that I'd promised an after word several times in the author's notes and never delivered. Heh heh heh. Err... oopsie? ;)

Ah well. Better nate than lever. snicker So, here it is, belatedly. If afterwords aren't your thang, then move along, nuthin' to see here, and no hard feelings. As always, this is the spot where you're going to find all the odd stuff and little bits of trivia I didn't include at the front because it would ruin the story to give it away ahead of time, or because I didn't want to clutter up the narrative with Author's Notes any more than necessary. Feel free to ignore it if you're one of those people who don't like author's commentary. But, if you like the ocassional glimpses into the warped mind of the author, then this is the place. (And if you're just here from seeing this pop up on the Whut's New Page and don't _**care**_ what the idjit behind the keyboard has to say about the story, feel free to page back and read the story while ignoring the postscript. I won't mind - honest.)

This was a surprisingly difficult story to write, considering how well it flowed. My usual style of writing is to have a beginning and an ending, plus a general outline of the story in mind, and once I have those: I write the ending and the first several chapters and fill in the middle.

Yes, I realize that may not be how other people do it. It usually works for me.

In this case, however, I wrote the first eight chapters and the three chapters of the ending in a rush of inspiration, then got partway through filling in the middle - and I realized that Chapters 4 through 10 no longer worked properly because my "minor characters" had taken on lives of their own and demanded a much larger part of the storyline than I'd planned. Oops. Hate it when that happens.

Well, actually, I don't. That usually tends to make for much more fully rounded characters and a more interesting set of dynamics, even if it does make my brain hurt. ;)

On the other hand... it does make for one hell of a lot of rewriting and staring at a blank WordPad muttering vile imprecations to myself as I try to make things flow properly and deal with all of the character dynamics.

This did start out as a more or less "straight" Faith/Supernatural crossover. Honest. Really. It did. And then Obie, Giambione, Hogan and the others grabbed a bigger part of the spotlight and Abby, Hannibal, Vince, and Blade decided they didn't want to be left out of the sequel to "Anything for Love" and, well... there ya go. So here we are, roughly thirty three chapters later - which is about twelve chapters more than I'd plannned on. And somewhere along the line, poor Sam and Dean became relegated to the roles of supporting cast in a Faith/Night Heat crossover...

Heh heh heh. Err... sorry, guys. I'd promise to make it up to you, but I'd be lying through my fangs. Oh well.

K.O. Ennyway... Assorted notes and explanations:

It has been noted in comments that the characters of Sam and Dean Winchester seem a bit OoC. There's a reason for that: I'm not a slave to canon, and I made them fit my fic, my story, and my worldline the way that they wrote themselves in my head, not the way they came across in Supernatural's first season, neccessarily. (Considering that, as I stated in the foreword, this is set between "Phantom Traveler" and "Bloody Mary" in Supernatural S1, then possibly, this adventure had something to do with their character's evolutions in the series. Or not. Wah.) This is the way that Sam and Dean are, character and personality-wise, in _this_ Alternate Universe. Deal with it. Or don't.

Obviously, since this fic takes place in 2003, Supernatural's first season has been moved back several years to meet with the AtS time line. As noted in the foreword, Sam and Dean have remained the same ages: Sam is still 22 here, and Dean is still 26. (Going by Wikipedia's listing of their ages and moving their birthdates back to compensate.)

Other vampire breeds: If you've been following comment discussions at the TtH version, you've already gathered this. If not, then... the "Kindrel" in this series are _**NOT**_ World of Darkness/Vampire the Masquerade "Kindred". Period, end of discussion, are not. While I borrow a bit from WoD for the inspiration and a few abilities, and a rough idea of vampire societies, that's about _it_: that and the name resemblance is as far as it goes. My "Kindrel" are an amalgamation of several different fictional and mythical vampire types blended together to create a "new" breed to fit my world line. ('New' in scare-quotes because no matter how you reblend the myths and source materials, if they're going to be recognizably European style vampires, they're always going to have certain similarities to other vampire types.) Please refer to Chapter 5: "Practical Like Stuff" for explanations of what the Kindrel are in this worldline, what their antecedents are, and where they come from. It really is explained in story context. Honest. And it really is "canon" for the purposes of this AU series: I'm planning to stick with the storyline context when I use the Childer of Lillith and Kane in the future.

Ditto for Elora. She is/was _**NOT**_ an Underwold "Death Dealer" and this is not an Underworld crossover. Her self-claimed title is a surface resemblance only. I happened to like the combination of words. More will come out and be explained in story context during the series as time goes by. We are going to be exploring Elora's memories and Faith's efforts to integrate them as time goes by... and there's a wealth of history and background in there that may or may not be completely exposed within story context. (I gave up on even pretending to tell Faith what to do part way through "Anything for Love": she makes her own decisions and I just write about them.) At least some parts of that background and knowledge will come into play in future plotlines, and I wil be elaborating on Kindrel society and politics as time passes.

On the other hand, other than giving them a breed name, "Draaken", that fit their origins as Childer of Dagon/Children of Drake from Blade Trinity, I made only minor changes in the Blade vampires to make them fit the Buffyverse.

The "X-Files" exist in this AU, obviously, as you'll notice reading through. However, that particular FBI branch is named something different and it's always been Agent John Doggett and his dark-haired partner - Agent Monica Reyas - and one other red-haired woman agent (_not_ Dana Scully and not shown in this episode). The "X-Files" here is a TV show and is _fictional_, and Scully and Mulder are _TV characters_. There were too many X-Files and "Mulder & Scully" jokes in the Buffyverse episodes for me to be comfortable doing it otherwise. But - life mirrors fiction and naturally Doggett's wierd little branch gets called the X-Files a lot after the show. If you want to assume that all of the Mulder and Scully episodes in our universe happened to Doggett and Co rather than Mulder and Scully, cool. If you want to assume they were all TV episodes and Doggett's cases and adventures were different ones, that's cool too. I'm not telling. Yet.

Yes, Wormhole X-Treme _is_ a Sci-fi Channel television series in this universe, as is Special Unit 2. As for whether there's an SG-1 and a Stargate in Colorado Springs in this AU... I'm not telling. Yet.

Buffy Season 8 (The comics) _never_ happened in this universe. Period. No Giant Dawn, no Nick Fury Xander, no new Initiative, and definately no Giles leaving Faith in poverty in Cleveland and coercing her to act as his assassin. My Giles may not be perfect - but he's not as... vile... as Whedon's "canon" version seems to be turning out. So, if you consider Buffy Season 8 to be Official Canon (I don't: IMO it's mediocre Authorized Fanfic written by Joss Whedon), then this is AU from Chosen on. Season 8 ala Ironbear, the way it _should_ have been done were I the owner of the Bufffyverse, Blade, Night Heat, Supernatural and the other series. Done the Right Way. ;)

(Why yes, I am arrogant and secure in my ego. Why do you ask? g)

_Some_ editing will be done as time goes by to fix the odd typo, punctuation, and speeling eeror that I caught belatedly once I saved this out to PDF and reread it carefully. I usually catch those in speelchucking, or my beta reader does, but hey - accidents happen.

Various Credit Where Credit is Due stuff:

1. Tail-kinker to Ennien -slash- Evan Wilson was drawn from Janet Kagan's delightful "Uhura's Song" Star Trek novel. Excellent read if you like Star Trek Origional Series fiction and can find a copy. She's good people, too. Buy her books. Gratuitious plug inserted free of charge by the Author.

(PS: I discovered recently while visiting her site that Janet Kagan has passed on. sigh Rest ye gentle, sleep ye sound: ye shall be missed.)

2. Vince Kroenen, Agent Hagerman, and Elora Ménard are my own original characters/creations. (It _should_ go without saying that Giles, Vi, Angel, Charles Gunn,and the other Buffyverse characters mentioned belong to Joss Whedon.)

3. Song lyrics are credited at the bottoms of the chapters they're used in. To recap: "There goes another love song" is by The Oulaws, "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen, and "Allstar" is by Smashmouth.

4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series dialogue quotes were drawn from the transcripts at , and the quotes in Chapter 26 are from: "Faith, Hope, and Trick", "Homecoming", "This Year's Girl", "Consequences", "Touched", "Five by Five", and "Salvage". Insights into Faith's mindset and thought processes during those episodes were drawn from Faith:

5. Listing of various Crossover characters: X-Files, Night Heat, Supernatural, Blade III, Uhura's Song, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series. Karl Kolchak from the new Night Stalker series at the very, very end. And there is at least an implication of Highlander Immortals and the Immortal Watcher's Council.

6. Timelines: AtS "Just Rewards" takes place during the first few chapters of Life is a Road. AtS "Unleashed" takes place around Chapter 12, Day 9 in this timeline. AtS "Hell Bound" takes place between Chapter 26 and Gunn's return from LA in Chapter 29, "Conversational Interludes 2.0". (Why yes, I am taking liberties with the Angel Season 5 episode dates as I noted I would be.) There's a hiatus between "Hell Bound" and the end of this fic where no other Angel episodes occur before New Year's. Episodes post-New Year's I shall fit in where I need them to fall.

Many thanks to my beta reader SamanthaDancer, and to NWHepcat and litmouse for some of the inspirations I've drawn upon in this fic. Noteably: litmouse inspired Faith's cigar habit, Angel giving Faith a motorcycle (Although I had him give her a custom BMW rather than a hog - I like BMW's better: they're better bikes), and the Xander "Clint" nickname reference. NWHepcat 's story "Four Questions" neatly dovetailed with my own thoughts on why Giles failed Faith so spectacularly as a watcher in Season 3, _partly_ inspiring some of their conversation in Chapter 29. Also, many thanks to Kiwikatipo for letting me bang my head against theirs in email and in comments while I was struggling with the rewrites on the final chapters.

I _am_ working on sequels, however I am making no promises as to when they'll be posted.

_- Ironbear_


End file.
